A Destiny of Ice and Steel
by bobberoo98
Summary: A young Northerner, loyal to House Stark, & to a Lady he can't be with, finds himself amongst enemies, far from home. As the Wolf fights the Lion, Westeros falls into chaos, & winter draws near. The son of Ser Rodrick Cassel must fight against injustice, betrayal, & war to save the woman he loves & help her reclaim the North. Semi-AU. T/M rating for violence/swearing. S1-6
1. Chapter 1 - A Pack of Wolves

**A/N: Hi everyone! Here it is, at last. The first chapter of my first ever proper story, and I'm very excited to release it. Game of Thrones is undoubtedly my favourite TV show, and I've been planning this for a long time.**

 **Now most likely it will be utter crap, but I hope you can forgive that as it is my first time doing this. Any help and reviews are welcome, and if anyone wants to, they can PM me at any time.**

 **This is an AU, so do expect things to be different to the show, but I will try and keep events as parallel to the (so far) 6 seasons in GoT. And yes, I will be going from Seasons 1-6 and possibly beyond with this story, so be ready for a long ride.**

 **My OC is taking the place of Beth Cassel, so there won't be any mention of her.**

 **Not much book content will be in here, but I hope that won't annoy people too much.**

 **Enjoy this epic tale of power, love, family, blood- ok I'll stop now. Have fun reading. Love you all. :)**

 **PS:** _ **bold italics**_ **are flashbacks, which will only happen when necessary.**

 **A Destiny of Ice and Steel**

 _Chapter 1 - A Pack of Wolves_

"In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, First of his Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I, Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North, sentence you to die."

As soon as Lord Stark spoke those words, as was routine for such an event, he took the ancestral Valyrian steel sword of House Stark, Ice, and swung it down onto the deserter's neck, decapitating the man quickly and with immense precision.

' _Better that way'_ , the adolescent boy agreed to himself. ' _Better a quick death'._

He watched as Lord Stark sheathed the now bloodied Ice inside the wolf pelt casing that Theon Greyjoy held, whilst the decapitated body of the Night's Watch deserter was taken away, with its severed head, from his sight. He always felt an inkling of pity for those that deserted. Of course, he knew why they had to be executed, they deserted their duty after all, but the boy did feel sorry to an extent. What caused them such distress and fear that they would willingly give up their post, knowing the price was death?

This man had been saying the same as the three Night's Watch deserters before him. _I saw them. The White Walkers_. Such utterance of them sent a very unwelcome and fittingly cold shiver down his spine. He had read about them in the books, during his studies. Icy creatures, more demon than man, with those haunting blue eyes, leading an army of the dead against the living during the Age of Heroes. The boy really hoped the man was telling a lie.

"Edward."

The calling of his name brought the teenage boy out of his thoughts, and turned to the source of the voice. "Yes Father?"

"Let's go, get on your horse."

Ser Rodrick Cassel gave the brief signature grimace that he always showed when handling his son's horse, as the animal was always a little too wild for his liking. Much like his only son, who climbed onto his white horse with ease, and spurred it to trot up to and follow the group of Stark males, who had began the short trip back to Winterfell.

Edward Cassel was only 16, but looked a year or two older. That could be attributed to his height, in which he stood about an inch above 6 foot, taller than his father and his cousin Jory, who was just over 10 years older than him. Edward had dark brown hair, much like a typical Stark possessed. It was normally in a semi-unruly state, his locks almost being a split between the styles and lengths of Robb Stark and Jon Snow, but it was long and short enough that it could be swept back or to the side easily, making it not so unkempt as normal.

His eyes were also that of a dark brown colour, but had a green tinge to them as well. A slight dusting of stubble adorned his jaw, which not only highlighted his quite handsome face, but also further exaggerated his look of a man a few years his senior.

Edward also had a maturity beyond his young years. Much like Eddard Stark and his eldest sons, Robb and Jon Snow, he was honourable to a fault. Of course, having been born and raised at Winterfell by his father, and growing up alongside the Stark children, this was a normal trait to have.

Despite this honourable and respectful attribute gained from rigorous lessons in sword fighting, studies and being in general presence of Lord Stark, Edward always managed to have a sense of childish eagerness bordering on recklessness about him. Never afraid to speak his mind or back down from challenges, the young Cassel had gained much respect from the likes of the Stark children, and his cousin Jory and the rest of the castle guard. However, this excess of what Edward defiantly called "righteousness" also gained him headaches from the telling offs he got from his father and even that of Lord Stark once.

Edward chuckled at the memories as his horse trotted through the forest leading to Winterfell, it's hooves printing themselves into the dusty summer snow that covered the ground. It was quite funny now that he looked back on it. However, the small laugh caught the attention of his older cousin, Jory, who served as Captain of the Guard at Winterfell - a role he took seriously and came with being one of Ned Stark's most trusted men.

Jory gave a look to Edward as if the young lad had grown a second head. "You alright there, Ed?" he questioned, adding a smile to show his playfulness.

"Don't call me that." Edward retorted in sudden annoyance. He despised the nickname Jory had for him, even if it was a joke.

Jory's grin widened, knowing he had succeeded in his attempt to tease Edward.

"It's only a joke, cousin. You know that."

"Still doesn't stop me from hating it."

Jory feigned to be shot by an arrow, miming one protruding from his chest. "Oh no! Your words wound me!"

That brought a smile back to Edward's face. Jory always made him smile. In that respect he was so much like a brother to him, not just a cousin. He felt lucky to have him.

As Edward was preparing a retort, Eddard Stark's voice rang through the forest, his words as serious and cold as the Northern breeze sweeping through the young Cassel's hair.

"Stop. There's something on the road."

* * *

A while had passed with the group heading back home from the execution. Normally, it wouldn't take that long to ride back, but the group did have a few extra 'luggage' to take - in the form of six direwolf pups. After saving them from a certain death due to the absence of their dead mother, Jon Snow had managed to convince his father to let the Stark children keep them, as a gesture that clearly pleased Bran and would do so to the rest of the Stark children.

Edward gingerly led his horse through the dense wintery forest, as he held one of the pups in his lap, trying not to let it fall. The pup was small, about the same size as a normal one would be, but from the tales he had heard, direwolves would grow to be huge, as big as the horse we was riding. The pup itself (or should he say, herself, as Edward identified it was female) was sleeping quite peacefully, considering the cold and noise of the horses' hooves trampling on the ground. Edward smiled, as an idea of who this little one should go to sprouted in his mind.

Eventually, the trees parted to give a clear sight of the beautifully harsh castle and town, along with the huge walls that made up Winterfell, the ancestral seat of House Stark of the North. Edward couldn't help but gaze at it in awe everytime he saw it from the outside.

What felt like only a few seconds looking at it actually turned out to be more, as Edward snapped out of his trance to find that he was trailing from the group. Smiling to himself, he snapped the reins on his horse and galloped over to them, keeping the little direwolf pup safely on his lap, in his cloak, the harsh yet comforting cold winds rushing through his dark hair, as it yet again began to lightly snow.

No matter the warnings about the White Walkers, Edward would always love the feeling of the cold and the snow, of the harsh winds of the North.

* * *

Cerulean blue eyes gazed upon the courtyard from the balcony, having just watched the group of Stark males (along with Cassel and Greyjoy) enter. A small gentle smile crept across her porcelain, beautiful face, glad that everyone was home safe. Thick, ginger auburn hair lightly tickled her red-pink cheeks, caused by the cold, Northern breeze. She pulled her wolf pelt-topped cloak closer to her thin, tall frame, in order to get warmer.

'I should get inside. It's freezing.' She reprimanded herself in her head.

However, before turning to leave, blue eyes briefly locked with hazel. Noticing that Edward Cassel had gotten off his horse and was looking directly at her, she gave a small wave with her delicate fingers, accompanied with a small curl of her pink lips. Edward, in response, gave her a toothy grin that was trademark of him and gestured for her to come to him.

Intrigued, Sansa Stark walked down from the balcony and into the open courtyard. Edward was hiding something in his cloak, and seemed quite excited to show it.

Sansa, always the courteous and formal, nodded her head in respect to Edward, who reciprocated the gesture.

"Hello there, Edward."

"My Lady." He said with a smile, which caused another small grin from Sansa. She never knew why, but hearing Edward say that to her always made her smile.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of her mind, she decided to ask about the hidden bulge in his cloak.

"I imagine the thing you have hidden is quite important to you, if you're smiling so much about it."

"Actually, my Lady, it's for you." Edward revealed, showing her the tiny pup he was carrying. Sansa's mouth slightly opened in shock and happiness. Edward handed her the pup, being careful not to drop her as Sansa took it in her arms.

The direwolf pup had mainly grey hair, that was accentuated with white around her face and ears. Sansa couldn't help but give a light laugh at how cute she was, being wrapped in her cloak like a baby.

"She's beautiful."

Edward couldn't help but agree; only, it wasn't about the pup. "Yes, she is." He stated, a hint of longing and whisper in his voice, his eyes gazing upon Sansa's pretty face.

Edward had always felt a little bit smitten for Sansa. Ever since they were children growing up together with the rest of the Starks, Sansa was always his favourite to talk to. How could she not be? She was so pure and innocent and….. beautiful. Her skin was blemish-free, her red hair looked like fire amongst snow, and her smile was utterly gorgeous. Not to mention that she was a proper young lady, always polite and kind-hearted.

Of course, he would never say that to anyone, especially not Sansa herself. Most likely, she was going to marry a high Lord or a Prince, a dashingly handsome man who would take her to some place south, nice and sunny and hot. He knew that's what Sansa and her parents always wanted, not some Northerner who couldn't promise her a warm home except her own, let alone own any land or earn and have a title. He wouldn't dare ask Lord or Lady Stark for her hand.

Still, he could dream.

"Are you ok, Edward?"

However, Edward realised that he had been staring at the young Lady Stark for a little longer than necessary, as Sansa's face had turned from happiness to confusion.

Blushing heavily, the young Cassel stammered as he desperately tried to think of something to come up with.

"Yes! Erm-er….."

This caused Sansa to giggle at Edward's embarrassment, whose cheeks were red as her hair.

However, her amazing laugh calmed him down somewhat, as he managed to get out an awkward chuckle and scratch the back of his head.

Remembering the direwolf, Edward spoke, secretly relieved to change the subject.

"Your father said that you're to feed and take care of them yourselves. What shall you name her, my Lady?"

Sansa's sea blue eyes gazed down at the now awake pup in her arms, who wasn't squirming or yelping much, as Robb's pup was in the background, to Theon Greyjoy's annoyance. Hers was being good and quiet. Much like a noblewoman should be. A name came to mind.

"Lady. A gentle, good Lady."

Edward smiled. "A fitting name. Perhaps, my Ladies," he added in an extra title for the newly noble direwolf, which elicited another chuckle from Sansa, "You should head inside. It is rather cold, and I believe the young one needs food and a wash."

"I agree. Thank you so much Edward."

The young Cassel smiled his trademark toothy grin, his thick hair swaying in the cold wind. "No problem at all my Lady."

With that, they both bowed to each other in courtesy and went in different ways. Sansa, inside to wash and feed her new companion. Edward, to make sure his horse was stabled and well.

Sansa's grin widened slightly when inside. She had always been fond of Edward. He had always showed her respect and kindness. Obviously everyone did, she was Eddard and Catelyn Stark's eldest daughter, but this was a different sort. The way he was so excited to see her happy, it was the sort of respect and honour and kindness that she always imagined knights of the South would bear to their fair ladies, a genuine type.

Of course, Sansa never doubted that her brother Robb and half-brother Jon Snow had honour and respect, but Robb was brought up to have it, being heir to Winterfell, and Jon….

….Well, Jon was brooding and sulking most of the time, but he had the decency to be respectful when the time called for it, if that could count.

Despite that, the young redhead enjoyed the company that Edward offered, even if it was brief due to their numerous lessons and sword and sewing practice. It was a sort of company that she never felt uncomfortable in, which she only ever felt in the presence of her parents and her siblings. Regardless, Sansa saw Edward as a valuable friend, who never seemed to stop smiling and make other people smile including herself. And now she had a physical reminder of the kindness he showed her and the friendship they shared in the form of Lady.

After walking through the castle for a while on her way to her bedroom, Sansa allowed herself to think back to a little daydream that she had nurtured since early childhood; a place that was warm and sunny, with a noble and fair Lord or Prince that would make her heart flutter every time she looked at him.

The young Lady desperately wanted out of Winterfell, out of the North, where she could turn that dream into reality and live happily forever.

Sansa soon broke out of her thoughts when she realised that she had arrived at her room. Checking her pup, who was playing with the ends of her fiery hair, she made her way inside.

* * *

"Fancy a spar, Ser?"

The oldest Stark, Robb, had directed a challenge to him, adding in a mock insult to further tease the Cassel.

"You read my mind, your Grace." Edward shot back an equally mocking jape at the auburn haired Stark with a friendly smile, which elicited one from Robb along with a hearty laugh.

"Good. I need someone to beat into the ground."

"Be careful Robb, you don't want to be embarrassed in front of everyone again like last time."

Robb recalled last time. Edward had thrashed him, but he wouldn't admit that to anyone.

"We'll see who gets embarrassed this time, Cassel."

Edward grinned. "Bring it on, Stark."

After handing Lady Sansa her direwolf and checking on his horse, he had bumped into Robb, with his own chosen direwolf, named Grey Wind, named for his mainly grey coat.

This sort of rivalry that existed between Robb and Edward was not very serious, and always was contained by their friendship. Robb always saw Edward as a sort of brother, much like Jon Snow, and never saw fit to hide it.

Edward loved the bond he had with Robb and Jon. The three being the oldest among the young at Winterfell, their bond, whilst not being necessarily bound by blood, was strong. He felt like a Stark in all but name, and was very happy to be that way, as he was also proud to be a Cassel, who were always considered to be, along with the Umbers of Last Hearth, the most loyal to House Stark.

Robb joined Edward in the training ring after putting on practice armour and taking a blunted ironwood sword each. Whilst not lethal as the steel blades they possessed, they still caused a lot of bruising if used correctly.

It was Robb who attacked first, trying to take out Edward's knees in order to gain advantage. His swipe was easily evaded by Edward who turned and used his momentum to launch a series of hacks at the abdomen of Robb, who parried well.

Both lads were very adept at sword-fighting, although it was always considered that Edward was slightly better, since his father was the Master-at-Arms at Winterfell and had taught him all he knew. Although the trio of Edward, Robb and Jon had been trained together by Ser Rodrick, it was his son who spent more time practising.

In this spar, it was clear to see. A pattern emerged in the fight, in which Robb, the slightly stronger of the two, would swipe his sword in hacking motions across the body of Edward, but the young Cassel would easily block and evade, using Robb's momentum and that of his own to counter-strike, thrusting at the eldest Stark when he was off balance due to the attacks he made, causing Edward to easily jab at Robb's arms and chest.

Jory once commented that Edward's fighting style loosely resembled the Water Dancers of Braavos, who use their body and balance and supreme agility to get into opportunities to strike easily with their swords.

Edward, whilst not nearly as agile as the legendary Braavosi fighters, was surprisingly quick with the way he moved, and the strikes he landed on Robb were strong and effective. The Stark heir, however, did manage to get a couple of blows onto Edward's legs and midriff, and eventually, after ten to twenty minutes of the two young men fighting, sweat now trickling in beads down their faces after the many fast paced and hard exchanges they had endured from each other, had resorted to circling each other and taunting.

"You call that fighting? Little Rickon could do better!" Robb teased, a smile across his damp face.

Edward chuckled at the thought of six year old Rickon with a sword.

"If Rickon could do better than I could, then he would kick your arse harder than me!" He retorted with a bigger grin finding its way onto his handsome face.

Robb didn't bother to speak back, as he tackled Edward to the ground in retaliation for the comeback.

After laughing for a good while on the ground, Edward got up and offered Robb his hand. "Good fight Stark." He said with a smile.

Robb accepted his gesture and rose to his feet. "And you, Cassel."

As the two lads went to put away their practice swords and armour, Robb chuckled. "It's going to take days to get the mud out of these clothes."

"And weeks for you to get over the humiliation I gave you" Edward expertly delivered, as if he had been waiting for the moment to say it.

Robb scoffed in reaction.

"I remember landing a few hits on you..."

As Robb was detailing the times he had struck Edward, the young Cassel wasn't paying attention. His attention was elsewhere, thinking about the lovely smile of the red haired girl whom he had given her new direwolf pet, and how that smile made him feel so warm inside.

"You ok there?"

Edward felt a hand on his shoulder, which shook him out of his trance, from looking at where Sansa just stood.

Turning to face Robb, he gave a genuine smile. "I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"You seemed hypnotised just then. I thought something was wrong."

Edward chuckled lightly and decided to lie. He wasn't going to let Robb Stark know about his secret crush on Sansa.

"I appreciate the concern, Robb, but I'm fine."

Robb returned a smile to Edward. "Okay then. Let's get inside, it's getting dark, and winter is coming. Dinner should be soon."

Edward laughed. Robb always liked to use the Stark words. As Robb put on his wolf pelt cloak and began to walk towards the castle doors, the young Cassel couldn't help but be reminded in that moment of the execution of the Night's Watch deserter.

 _The White Walkers. I saw them._

For the second time that day, a chill that had nothing to do with the cold crawled up and down Edward's spine, that served to somewhat cool down the warm feeling of Sansa's smile. If those words were true, then winter was coming indeed.

Taking his cloak and giving one last look around the courtyard, only finding guards at their posts as remaining people outside, he turned and strode inside the castle doors, hoping to find food or fire to give him much needed warmth from the bitter cold.

* * *

Inside the main hall of Winterfell, the Stark family ate their dinner in relative silence, albeit not an uncomfortable one. Comments were made to each other about their day, with small bouts of laughter emanating from the high table at the back of the very spacious room. Candles lit up the rest of the room, with a huge hearth roaring with fire behind the Stark table.

The smaller, yet longer tables that were spread across the rest of the hall contained the likes of some of the staff and guards that were off-duty, and were eating their own supper and sharing stories and laughter of their own.

However, at the furthest table at the back, one young man was doing anything but laughing.

Sporting his typical brooding scowl, which was as normal as his curly, dark locks, Jon Snow barely felt like eating. He stared longingly at the high table, in which all the Starks were sat.

He saw Bran and Rickon animatedly performing, with the excess of hand gestures flying about, the exciting climbing adventures they had done. Robb, Arya and Sansa had smiles on their faces as they listened, while Lord and Lady Stark gave each other a rare grin that could only be seen in the presence of their family around them.

How Jon had desperately longed, craved, to be up there with them. To share in the warmth of a proper, loving family like the Starks. But that could, and would never happen to him. He was a Snow. A bastard. A Northern bastard, true, but a bastard nonetheless. How many nights had he cried himself to sleep, knowing that his status would never change, all because of something he had no control over? All because of his last name?

Jon had gone far beyond the point of being angry. Being mad at something that he couldn't have changed was pointless. However, for as long as he could remember, he had always felt pity. For himself. He knew that feeling sorry for himself was pointless as well, but it was better than being angry.

Jon was brought out of his sorrowful thoughts by a chair being sat in next to him by a very familiar face, and words spoken to him, as if the person had almost read his mind.

"Looking at them hard enough isn't going to make it come true, you know."

"Why do you say that? You know nothing about being a Snow." Jon answered, bitter tones in his voice.

Edward put his drink on the table and gave a mirthless chuckle.

"How long have we been friends, Jon? Almost all our lives?"

The Northern bastard gave a small nod, taking a sip out of his drink and looking hollowly into it. "Aye."

"Can you remember when we were about 7 and 8, and you found out that you weren't a Stark, but a Snow?"

Silence came from Jon, his brown eyes coming to look at Edward, whose own eyes were looking at him intently, before continuing.

"I remember that day clearly. You came to me, bawling your eyes out, and explained it, that Robb and Sansa and Arya weren't even your true siblings. By that time, you'd been growing up with them, like I had, and it was so difficult to take in. But let me tell you something. I do know some of your pain. You see, it had been about 5 years since my mother had died. I'd gotten past the grieving process by that point, but I still missed her."

Edward took a deep swig of his drink, and continued. "Can you remember when I said to you that no matter what, even though we don't share the same blood or name, that you would always be a brother to me?"

Jon looked into Edward's eyes, and felt him put a reassuring hand on his right shoulder. Jon nodded, the memory easily coming into his mind. Edward smiled, making Jon feel a small but strong warmth inside at the sight of his friend.

"I'm not a Snow, Jon. And I regret that you are. You would make a great Stark. Hells, you look more like one than Robb!" The Cassel exclaimed, forcing Jon to give a small curl of the lips and a glance at Robb who was listening intently to Arya at the high table.

Edward continued further, his smile lessening slightly, giving way to a more serious tone.

"But I know the way you feel. We're both without our mothers, we hardly or didn't even know them, and regardless whether yours was a noble Lady or some peasant, I know that she wouldn't want you to pity yourself all the time. I know my mother didn't want that for me, and I can't remember much of her, only what my father tells me. You're right, I know nothing about being a bastard, but listen to me Jon. To me, you are a Stark. I know you want to go and join the Night's Watch, and that will be your home and family for life, but home is always here. The Starks are your family. And not only them but me too. You're not only my closest friend, you are a brother to me. The brother I never had, ever since we were boys."

Edward took his hand off Jon's shoulder and downed the rest of his drink. Upon hearing Edward's heartfelt talk, Jon spoke, shame crossing his features at his small outburst.

"Thank you, Edward. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have reacted to you like that."

"There's nothing to be sorry for. Brother."

Jon saw Edward extend his hand with a smile that everyone knew him for. The bastard, a tear almost in his eye, a great respect and admiration for Edward having strengthened his resolve, wrapped his hand around the Cassel's wrist and gave a smile that was rarer than snow in Dorne. A smile, like Ned Stark, that was only shown in the presence of family. Of loved ones.

Whilst the Stark children were his half-siblings and technical family, Edward would be a bit more than that; a great friendship, bound not by blood or name, but by a motherless bond and an understanding of each other, that would always make them view each other as family, that Jon said back to Edward with a warmth that he had rarely felt before:

"Brother."

 **And that's Chapter 1 done! I was very nervous writing it, but I hope it won't be too confusing or bad. I admit, not much excitement, but I'm trying to set up and explain the relationships in the Stark family and between them and Edward before moving forward too much. Obviously, this is the very start of the show/book story, so I will attempt to add in good characterisation as the chapters go on e.g. For Sansa, Jon etc.**

 **By the way, do let me know what you think of Edward and the story. Constructive criticism is welcome, as are reviews and comments. Also, if you feel like suggesting something e.g. that I should improve on or expand someone's character, feel free to do so. I'm not perfect and quite new to writing like this, so any help would be greatly appreciated.**

 **PM me if you want to ask questions or whatever, and I will do my best to get back to you quickly.**

 **P.S. All characters are played by their respective TV actors, and they and the content belong to HBO and G.R.R Martin, except for Edward. He's mine.**

 **P.P.S: The ages for the Stark children/Edward/Jon Snow are relatively similar to the TV show, and with every season, they get a year (roughly) older. The ages below are Season 1 ages. I'm sure you're clever enough to add a year to them with each passing season, I'll notify you when the seasons change.**

 **Robb and Jon - 17**

 **Edward - 16**

 **Sansa - 15**

 **Arya - 11**

 **Bran - 10**

 **Rickon - 6**

 **Anyway, thank you so much for reading this story if you've bothered to, and thanks for suffering to get all the way down here. You guys are the best.**

 **Next chapter hint: more character setup (Arya, Bran, Theon etc.), and dark wings arrive to The North, bringing dark words for the Starks of Winterfell.**

 **Love you all.**

 _bobberoo98_


	2. Chapter 2 - The King is Coming

**A/N: Hi everyone, I would just like to thank all of those who faved or followed my story after just the first chapter! It means so much to me, and it is a definite motivation for me as well.**

 **Don't be afraid to leave any reviews of this story, as they will help me too.**

 **Anyway, enjoy this second chapter of ADoIaS. There's a bit more character setup, so bear with it, but the story is definitely going to be moving forward for Edward and the Starks of Winterfell. Sorry it's a been a while since the first chapter, but I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 _Chapter 2 - The King is Coming_

The day after the execution and the finding of the six direwolf pups, Edward was back to his usual routine: swordplay and training in the morning till noon, and after an hour of lunch, archery in mid afternoon and two hours of studies in early evening before dinner.

The young man never minded it; it kept him focused and enabled him to talk to his friends and family. Of course, this routine was pretty much the same for the male Stark children and him, Jon Snow, and Lord Stark's ward and squire, Theon Greyjoy. Sansa and Arya had different activities, being demure girls, although Edward knew Arya was very much the opposite of such a stereotype. Her and Sansa, despite being sisters, couldn't be more different to each other. Sansa loved sewing and classes in formality and etiquette, whilst Arya would rather be sword playing with him and Jon.

However, the two hours of studies in Westerosi history and houses was one of the only sessions in which all the Stark children, including him, Jon and Theon were all together. Naturally, it always excited Edward to be in those sessions, feeling like he was part of the family.

Speaking of family, it was his father, Ser Rodrick, who took charge of sparring and swordplay lessons. Having been heavily involved in Robert's Rebellion and the Greyjoy Uprising as part of Ned Stark's army, Ser Rodrick was one of the most experienced fighters around. Having also gained the title of 'Ser', he was one of very few Northmen to be knighted, as knights normally had connotations to the Southern religion of the Faith of the Seven, and they had no power in the North.

Despite this honourable title, whenever Edward bothered to ask of how exactly he earned it, his father would change the subject. Confused as to why his father would appear almost ashamed of earning a knighthood, Edward just thought the reasons were that the bringing up of the Greyjoy Rebellion would upset or insult Theon, who was a ward at Winterfell because of the failed uprising, or that the memories of those times had links to his mother, whom Rodrick had loved very much and mourned deeply after her death, he decided not to press too much on the issue when it was brought up.

However, Edward was determined to find out eventually.

Taking his thoughts back to the present day, the young Cassel was excited about the training session they were in store for; the same, however, could not be said for Robb and Jon, who wore slight grimaces on their faces, while Edward had a very smug smile from ear to ear as they listened to Ser Rodrick describe the details.

"Right, lads. Having seen all of you grow up over the years, it is easy to see what fine young men you have become. You are all good fighters, no doubt that will come in handy in the future. Today, since I and Lord Stark," Ser Rodrick pointed upwards to the nearby balcony, which revealed Eddard standing stoically, his watchful eye upon the three lads, "believe that you are all ready for it….."

The old knight paused, as he walked over to the open armoury, and took Edward, Robb, and Jon's scabbards, each containing their respective swords, and held them out to the boys.

Each of the three eldest children looked at each other, confused as to why their instructor was holding out their swords when normally they had to put them away for training sessions. This was when Lord Stark stepped down into the courtyard, and finished Rodrick's sentence.

"You'll be practising with live steel today, lads."

The reactions of the boys were very different, yet comical. Edward's smile, if it could, deepened. He was relishing the challenge. Robb's face dropped markedly, his mouth hanging wide open in shock. He was worried about getting injured. Jon's face hardened. He wanted to get it over with.

The trio, in varying degrees of reluctance, took their swords and went to put some chainmail on. They found it quite heavy, but thought it necessary. They joined Ser Rodrick in the training ring, with Lord Stark watching from outside of it.

"Boys, first and foremost rule. Respect your swords as if they are a person, and they will be your friends. Don't, and they will hurt you more than your enemy." Eddard warned.

The boys gave a nod to acknowledge what Lord Stark stated, before turning their attention to Ser Rodrick.

The old knight nodded to his son, and Robb. "Edward. Robb. You're both up. Go easy on eachother, you're not at war."

Edward and his friend walked into the centre of the ring, and unsheathed their blades. The singing of steel could be heard as the swords were taken out of their scabbards.

From earlier lessons in live steel swordplay, they had been taught to sharpen and clean their respective swords every day. Edward and Robb often took after Lord Stark and did so in the serene calm of the Godswood, next to the red weirwood tree. As a result, their blades, much like the ominous Bolton words, were sharp.

The two boys started circling each other, getting a feel for their blades, testing the weight and balance. Of course, they had fought with proper swords before in training, but Edward always found his sword heavy to start off with, in comparison to the ironwood practice swords that they normally used.

The sun's rays started to peek through the heavy clouds that covered the Northern sky, causing the swords to reflect the light, and brighten up the place. It was rare that the sun would appear this late in summer, and winter was coming, after all. The cold was clearly shown by the breath fogging when the boys exhaled.

After sizing each other up, Robb, who was looking for some well-needed revenge after his two heavy losses to Edward in previous encounters, lunged forward first, hoping to catch his opponent off guard. Edward, however, knew Robb's plan, from beating him previously, and swerved with the grace of someone far less agile than he was, a cocky smile spreading on his face.

"Come now, my lord, surely you know doing that will end up with your dignity in ruins again?"

This brought a frustrated laugh from the heir to Winterfell, who then engaged with the young Cassel again. As Robb attacked, Edward parried relatively easily, although the extra strain of the steel sword didn't help. The clashing of swords sent the ringing of metal through the air, reverberating in everyone's ears.

Ser Rodrick decided to speak up in a break in the fighting. "Robb, your footing is a little weak. Tighten up your balance."

Footing was crucial in a duel. One little mistake and boom, game over. Edward smiled inwardly. Now that he knew about this slight weakness (although Robb usually had good feet, so Edward put it down to the heaviness of the sword), he was ready to exploit it.

The two got ready again. This time, it was Edward who decided to attack first, moving quickly whilst placing calculated strikes on Robb, who parried, and then countered, moving forward whilst striking.

Edward knew that Robb was going to overswing, and parried consistently, waiting for the moment.

And, it came.

Robb swung for Edward's legs, who reacted quickly to hop backwards to evade. However, this failed strike caused Robb to slightly slip due to overswing, and caused a stumble. Edward smiled. _Victory_.

Robb tried to regain his balance, but not before he came under attack again from the young Cassel, who marched forward whilst one-handedly striking his sword with his own, as all the Stark heir could do was hold it up in meager defence as he stumbled backwards, trying desperately to stand up.

Despite his best efforts, his rear bumped painfully onto the ground, as Edward slashed sidewards, knocking Robb's sword into the dirt and out of reach. Edward, retaining his cocky smile, pointed his sword at Robb, knowing he had won yet again.

"Do you yield, my Lord?"

"Aye." Robb admitted in disgust, knowing that he wouldn't hear the end of it, from Theon or Edward himself.

Holding out his hand in offer to help Robb to his feet, Edward pulled the Stark heir from the ground, and turned to face his father and Lord Stark, who were both holding impressed smiles on their faces. Robb picked up his sword and sheathed it, as Edward did the same.

"Well fought, Cassel" Robb managed to say, with a small smile.

Edward nodded in recognition, his own smile never leaving his own face. "And you, Stark."

Ser Rodrick walked into the ring. "Well done, son. I and Lord Stark were agreeing on how well you've improved in your patience and anticipation during a duel."

Edward's smile, changed into a grin of gratitude. "Thank you, father, Lord Stark."

Both men nodded in acknowledgement, before Rodrick turned to Robb, who had his head slightly bowed in defeat. "Robb, you fought well too, don't get down over losing. Your footing, however, needs some work. Let me show you."

As Ser Rodrick examined the stance of Robb, much to his annoyance, Eddard Stark called over Jon Snow. Edward tried to make out what they were talking about, but dismissed it as none of his business. Eventually, Jon stalked off, presumably to do whatever task Lord Stark had set him to.

Edward frowned slightly. He knew that Jon was still slightly angry after their talk last night, and knew that sword training helped him to relax, such was his knowledge of how the bastard of Winterfell felt, due to their immense friendship.

After a while of typical exercises, including stance, shield and tactics, which Edward enjoyed but not as much as actual fighting, him and Robb were dismissed from the session. After going over to the armoury to leave the chainmail that they had been wearing, they went to pick up their wolf-pelt cloaks that they had discarded prior to the session and to attach their belts that held their swords and daggers.

Whilst putting those items on, and sharing light-hearted banter between them, Edward was left alone in the courtyard by Robb, who went to find his father. However, Edward would discover that he wasn't completely alone.

A clanging of swords on the ground near him alerted him to the presence of someone else. Not just someone, but someone who clearly had been found out.

Edward looked at the culprit of the fallen swords, and gave a disbelieving face.

"Well, well, well, little Lady. What are you doing here?"

The girl stood up, trying to show defiance at being found.

"I'm just…. Trying out the swords."

"Yeah, and I'm the King in the North." Edward retorted sarcastically. "You, Arya Stark, should be at your sewing lesson, not sneaking out to watch our sword-fights."

Arya scowled and looked down, knowing that she had failed in her attempt to dissuade Edward.

"But I hate it! I'm rubbish at it and Sansa and her friends laugh and giggle about stuff that is boring, like flowers and knights and stupid fairytales!"

This brought a hearty laugh from the young Cassel. Of all the Stark children, Arya was the one who probably was the black sheep, wanting to be someone else than what the world expected of her. That was why he and Jon Snow were quite fond of and close to her, never angry or dismissive of her, which made her trust them two most, as if they were genuine brothers of hers.

"I know, little Lady-"

"Don't call me that, you know I don't like it!" Arya shot back, her brows scrunching in annoyance.

Edward held his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright."

The young Northerner kneeled down to Arya's level, being six-foot-two and the young Stark barely above five foot. He tucked a couple of wayward hairs from the now messy bun that Arya's hair was styled in behind her ears, and gave her his typical toothy grin.

"Arya, I know you hate your lessons, and that you want to train with swords like me and Robb and Jon. Trust me, I'd happily teach you-"

Arya again cut him off. "Then why don't you?! I'd love for you to train me!"

"I can't, little one. What if i accidentally injured you, or you gained loads of bruises? I'm sure your Lady mother wouldn't think that you'd hurt yourself from sewing? Plus, I'd have the wrath of your entire House on me if they knew that I was teaching you to swing a sword!" Edward explained.

Arya opened her mouth to retort, but closed it after finding reasonable excuse. Her face deepened into a frown, clearly upset.

Edward gave a pained smile. He enjoyed Arya's company. He could talk to her about almost anything and it wouldn't faze her, and he never enjoyed upsetting her, or anyone for that matter.

"I'm sorry, little Lady. Perhaps if you were to ask your father, then maybe," Arya's face brightened immediately at the suggestion, "maybe, mind you, you might be allowed."

Arya smiled a rare smile, although genuine, and wrapped her skinny arms around Edward's neck, almost choking him with the force she applied to the hug, and then ran off in a hurry, presumably to find Lord Stark.

Edward looked on as she went, and chuckled to himself. "Oh Gods, what have I got myself into?"

* * *

Lunch passed relatively quickly, with Edward sharing his company with his cousin Jory. Of course, the relationship between the two was much closer than would be expected with cousins, as they treated each other like brothers. And as with most brotherly relationships, a conversation can very quickly digress into an insult match, with Jory teasing Edward on how his now normal defeatings of Robb in sparring and sword practice would get him banished from the North upon Robb's ascension to the Lordship of Winterfell.

Edward, would just laugh it off and try to think of a good comeback, but Jory would simply ruffle his younger family member's increasingly curly and long hair (much to the annoyance of Edward) and walk off before he could retaliate.

Nicknames, often crude or demeaning, are also common between siblings (true or honorary), and Jory and Edward were no exception. However, it was completely one-sided in favour of Jory, who now deliberately got confused when talking to Edward; the reason being that Edward's now fairly curly locks had earned him the title of 'Jon Snow the Second of his name', and so Jory was intentionally trying to decipher the person's identity, despite fully knowing it was Edward.

Not only did this annoy the apparently so called twin of Jon, but it often caused him to get slightly angry and walk off in temper.

And such was the case today. Already having finished his lunch, the young Cassel found himself in the castle courtyard. He breathed in the cold air, hoping that it would calm him. Luckily, it did. Edward did get annoyed often, which was one of his flaws of personality, and going outside often served to cool his nerves.

"You finished having your weekly mental breakdown?"

Theon Greyjoy, however, was as useful to calming his nerves as an Unsullied was to a brothel.

The Ironborn heir to Pyke stood there in front of him, next to a barrel full of arrows, and a bow in his hand, clearly practising his skills at archery before the lesson in a few minutes time. Theon also wore that trademark arrogant smirk on his face, which only served to increase Edward's nerves to near breaking point again.

Edward focused on the frankly rude question posed at him. "Funny. Almost as funny as your father's stupid failed rebellion."

 _That should do the trick_. It definitely shocked Theon, who, if possible, became even more frustrated and sought to go against the piercing comment. The two lads had never really liked each other, their relationship ranging from indifferent to full-blown enemies. Never anything positive.

"Hey! My father is better than yours could ever be! My father controls the Iron Islands, yours just attempts to teach people in swinging swords!"

"That explains why his only remaining son and heir is a hostage- sorry, _ward_ \- at Winterfell and why mine is an anointed knight. Sooner or later, Balon Greyjoy is going to have to come here begging on his knees to have you back!"

Edward had been stepping ever closer to Theon, until by the end of it, they were practically touching noses. The young Northerner continued still, a smirk of his own appearing on his face.

"But all he will gain is a son who knows nothing about fighting or leading, or even about his own damn people. A son, who has his head so far up his arse, he can't even see how much of a cocky, whiny little prick he is."

By this point, Theon was outraged, and red-faced to prove it. His teeth gritted in rage, he uttered a whisper that only he and Edward could hear. "You take. That. Back."

In equal volume, the Cassel retorted. "Over my father's dead body will I take that back. The truth hurts, doesn't it Greyjoy?"

There was palpable silence afterwards, as the two stared down each other, Edward and Theon bearing serious faces. It was only until Jory appeared, along with Bran, Robb and Jon for their archery lesson that the two stood down.

Jory, oblivious to the encounter, smiled. "You alright there, Ed?"

Edward smiled an innocent smile, yet his eyes showed a raging fire of anger. "All good."

Thankfully, the archery lesson went smoothly, with Theon being the best with the bow, naturally, since his swordplay wasn't too good. Thankfully, Edward managed to calm down due to being around Robb, Jon and Bran, who was only just beginning to start in archery lessons. However, he still wasn't immune to Jory's re-commencement of the whole 'Jon Snow the Second' teasing, in which Edward was now joined by his bastard friend in being annoyed, only Jon was questioning how his hair, which in all truth was much longer and curlier than Edward's, was similar to the son of Rodrick Cassel, whose own hair could be considered more messy than curly.

Despite the events, eventually everyone managed to laugh it off and gain high spirits. Except for that between Theon and Edward. The Ironborn glared daggers at Edward, who just retaliated with a cocky smirk; a taste of Theon's own medicine, in the Northerner's mind.

* * *

After a while, all the Stark children - along with Edward, Jon and Theon - were gathered in one of the solars of the castle towers, which served as the classroom for studies and lessons of Westerosi history, culture, and other relevant things to those of noble stature in the Seven Kingdoms.

As was routine with such lessons, the seating plan that had developed over the years of studies and the children growing up was the same as it had been for a long time; Bran, Arya and Rickon (from left to right) at the front nearest where Maester Luwin or Lord Stark stood and taught, with Sansa, Robb and Theon in the middle, and Jon and Edward at the back.

The reason why this seating order had emerged was due to age and preference. Arya, Bran and Rickon were the youngest of the Starks and had more to learn, so they were put at the front so that they would have and pay more attention to and from whomever was teaching them. Theoretically, of course, due to Arya being typical Arya, she normally got distracted a lot.

Sansa, Robb, and Theon were put in the middle purely out of necessity. Theon was normally the loud troublemaker type, so he had Robb next to the right of him to keep him in order, although it wasn't uncommon for the eldest Stark to join in with the Ironborn on rare occasions. Sansa, ever the dutiful and diligent student, was sat next to Robb in case she (rarely) needed help, as Robb had been through many of these lessons before and Sansa did sometimes fall prey to forgetfulness in lessons that had a lot of knowledge to take in.

Sitting directly behind Sansa was Edward at the far right at the back, and Jon beside him to his left. These two were at the back because for one, both along with Robb were the oldest of the group and had been through everything, for two, Edward didn't really need to pay attention due to him possessing the rare trait of vast memory retention (he was very good at remembering) from having done all the lessons anyway, and three - because Jon wasn't that bothered as he wouldn't need it at the Night's Watch in which he was intent on joining.

All the group had settled down and gathered some parchment (except Jon and Edward) in preparation for the lesson. Which tutor they had meant a particular type of lesson; with Maester Luwin, it was about the culture and ancient history of Westeros and it's various houses. Sometimes, when Lord Stark came and taught, it was about major events of recent Westerosi history, namely wars and battles and such, and also about the history of House Stark. Who best to learn it from?

Edward remembered one time, a few years ago, when he had asked about Robert's Rebellion, out of curiosity. Being who he was, he was intent on gathering knowledge of almost every single major event in history, such was his thirst for it. However, Lord Stark, who was teaching in that lesson, had almost shut down, conveying very little emotion and appearing, almost afraid to talk of it. Putting it down to lost, scarring memories of war and death and battle, he had refused to bring it up since, not wanting to upset Lord Stark about it.

Little did he know, it wasn't about what happened to Ned that scarred him and made him refuse to talk of it. It was about what had happened to someone very dear to him. About a promise that he had made.

Everyone's attention was captured by the arrival of Maester Luwin into the solar. Arya muttered a small "Yes!" at his presence. She probably had won a small bet amongst Bran and Rickon and herself about who would turn up.

The aged, kindly man, his numerous chain links clinking together as he walked to stand in front of the children, opened a huge tome that had been brought from the Winterfell library, labelled _The Great and Ancient History of Westeros and the Seven Kingdoms_. Ancient history, Edward presumed.

"Good afternoon, my lords and ladies. Today, I hope that you're ready, because we are moving forward in the history of House Targaryen."

Bran and Arya's faces lit up, whilst Theon and Robb's faces sunk. The two young Starks had been fascinated with the last house of Old Valyria, and with every lesson about the Targaryens, their excitement grew. Arya loved to hear tales about the warrior queen Visenya and her aiding her brother and husband Aegon the Conqueror in uniting Westeros under the banner of the three-headed dragon.

Bran loved to know about the different kings that ruled Westeros, ranging from that of Jaehaerys the Wise, to Maegor the Cruel. The young boy was very much like Edward in the sense that he loved to read, and soak up information.

"What are we learning about Maester? I hope it's about the wars against the Dornish." Arya hoped vocally.

"Well, I want it to be about the Dance of the Dragons." Bran spoke up, earning a nod of approval from Rickon and Theon.

Maester Luwin smiled. "No, young ones, today, we're going to be writing about the Blackfyre Rebellion."

"Isn't that about Aegon the Fourth? His multiple bastards?" Robb questioned the Maester.

"Aye, it is, Robb. Well done. Now, you're all going to need to pay attention, as it might get confusing. Robb, do help Sansa, as she might get confused during this….."

Sansa blushed a tad at the remark. Edward and Jon sat back in their seats, preparing themselves for what would now be the fourth, or was it the fifth, time that they would be hearing this story.

* * *

"Ahem!"

Edward and Jon shot up from their slumped positions on their seats to come face to face with everyone in the solar, having gained their attention from falling asleep in boredom. The Stark children and Theon were looking upon the two with barely hidden smirks, as Maester Luwin's unimpressed gaze bore into Edward with tremendous effect.

The young Cassel and Snow looked around the room, trying to appear nonchalant as possible.

"So… the Targaryens, right?" Edward smiled as he tried to break the uncomfortable silence that was covering the room.

"Edward and Jon, whilst I appreciate that you have heard the story of the Blackfyre Uprising numerous times in your studies, I would also appreciate it if you didn't cause disruption by falling asleep." Maester Luwin said calmly, as raising his voice was beyond him when it came to anger.

Both culprits blushed, Edward more furiously as he noticed that Sansa was looking at him with a teasing smile that was in between shock and understanding at his actions, or lack of it. Looking at her shining cerulean eyes, he tried to think of an excuse, but instead turned his gaze to Luwin and scratched the back of his head in embarrassment, whilst Jon seemed particularly interested in a floorboard, keeping his gaze down in shame too.

After both managing to mutter out a 'Sorry' each, the elderly Maester, decided to call it a day, and dismissed the group.

Whilst walking down the steps of the castle tower, Jon and Edward were bombarded with ridicule from the likes of Arya, Robb and Theon, although in relatively light-hearted spirit, apart from Theon, who just smirked that smirk of his.

After arriving into the courtyard, most of the group went inside again to the Main Hall, for supper. However, only Edward remained. Having been quite tired from sleeping in the studies lesson, the cold air served to wake him up properly.

Content, to just stand there and let the air calm him down as he breathed deeply, he closed his eyes and smiled. The North was his element, and he loved it.

However, what he wasn't counting on, was the sudden voice that shook him out of his reverie.

"What are you doing out here, Edward?"

The young Cassel turned around to the source of the voice, surprised, but then smiled at who it was.

Sansa stood there, in her cloak and blue dress, with Lady by her side, walking rather shakily due to the cold and the fact that she was only a few weeks old at most, but had grown quite a bit from previously.

Sansa, had a similar smile to the one she showed when Edward had been caught napping, genuine but had a slight mischief to it, which was quite unlike her. Her ginger-red hair was down in the typical Northern style, and was waving lightly in the breeze, brushing across her soft cheeks, which were slightly red from the cold wind.

That didn't stop Edward from returning the smile with one that spread from ear to ear. She truly was a Northern beauty, a sight to see when one needed cheering up. Her eyes were of the purest blue, which clashed magnificently with the red of her hair.

Edward was so captivated by the elegance and beauty of Sansa that he failed to realise he had been staring at her with a goofy grin on his face for longer than socially normal. He cleared his throat and looked away in embarrassment before replying.

"Nothing….. Just getting some air, my Lady."

Sansa giggled a little at Edward flushing in awkwardness, although she didn't fail to notice how that smile of his was still there. She really liked it when he would get shy and embarrassed, as it would make him smile a goofy grin that she had the feeling only she saw.

"You know you don't have to be so formal with me Edward."

"Well, it just seems appropriate for such an elegant and polite Lady as you, my Lady."

Sansa also liked the compliments she received from him. Of course, she had heard people tell her of her beauty and manners many times, but Edward tried hard to make her know it.

"Thank you, Edward. I really appreciate it."

If he could smile any more at the sight of Sansa's own grin, Edward was sure his jaw would fall off.

 _Stop grinning like a fool, idiot!_

Trying to get rid of his self-awkward compliments, he brushed the thanking off.

"Don't worry about it, I'm sure my Lady gets it all the time. Next thing you know, one of those flowery knights and Princes of the south will be flocking to shower you with comments of your beauty."

Now it was Sansa's turn to blush. Averting her gaze from the Cassel, she smiled at the ground and started fussing Lady in order to distract herself from her burning cheeks.

 _No matter how she looks, she looks beautiful,_ Edward told himself.

 _Too beautiful to be with me._

Feeling a small sliver of bittersweet feeling crawl into his heart, he tried to get rid of it by offering his arm to the eldest Stark daughter.

"It's getting cold and dark. Would my Ladies need escorting inside for some warm food?"

He smiled at Sansa's direwolf as he said it. Having given Lady to Sansa, he was quite attached to her, being almost like a secondary owner.

Sansa looked back at Edward, finding her gaze locking with his, hazel with blue. Gently, she linked her arm with his, and slowly made their way indoors, as a small flurry of summer snow started to fall upon Winterfell, small flakes finding their way into the two's hair.

"Of course, Ser. You are most kind"

This time Edward smiled to himself. Of course he wasn't a knight, but he enjoyed being called it by the one whose words meant so much to him. But that bittersweet feeling came back with a vengeance, as Edward realised that it wouldn't be him walking with her and being chivalrous, earning that gorgeous smile from Sansa that made him feel butterflies inside.

 _Until all those lords and knights come for her, I'll have to make do for now. It's the only thing I can do._

* * *

Whilst sitting and eating with his family, Edward noticed that Jon seems in higher spirits than the last dinner. Perhaps his brotherly pep talk had cheered him up a bit.

Certainly it was the case with the Stark table, with all the children animatedly chatting with each other over Gods-knows-what.

What Edward did notice as well, was the grim look on Lord and Lady Stark's faces. Normally, they would have been smiling as they ate, happy that they were sitting with their family.

Something wasn't right.

As if on cue, Eddard Stark stood up to address the Hall.

"Sorry for interrupting everyone's meal, but we have some very important news to share."

Edward felt his stomach for slightly. Was one of them ill? Dying? Were there Wildlings invading? He waited, along with the rest of the hall, in silence for Lord Stark to continue.

"A raven was received last night. I'm afraid that it brought bad news from the capital. Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, is dead."

A few gasps and murmurs and whispers spread around the hall, however Edward didn't feel much shock. Jon Arryn was an elderly man, it was inevitable. Valar Morghulis, as the Braavosi would say.

However, Lord Stark had more.

"I've also been told that King Robert Baratheon, and his Royal party, are on their way here. We have a few days to prepare for his arrival."

More whispers and murmurs. Edward looked at the Stark children, who ranged from excited to dreading it. Edward only felt his stomach clench in what could only be described as fear. Why?

Why was he afraid? Why was the King coming this far north?

Edward didn't know the answer. But judging by the grim look on Lord Stark's face and the feeling in his gut, he would soon find out. He almost didn't want to know.

But one thing he did know, was that the King was coming to Winterfell, and it would most likely involve the Warden of the North.

* * *

 **And there you go, chapter two done! All nicely set up for the arrival of Robert.**

 **I must say, I unintentionally and deliberately put in a hell of a lot of foreshadowing in there. Good luck in finding all of them.**

 **Hope you guys enjoyed it. I felt it was necessary to include some more dialogue between the rest of the Starks and Edward before moving the story forward, so you guys know what the deal is with everyone.**

 **Man, do Edward and Theon despise each other. I felt it was necessary to have someone or something that brought out Edward's dark side, so that he doesn't appear as a perfect person that gets along with everyone. That's not how the world works, it's not how Game of Thrones works. Every character has good and bad to them. As a glorified binge-watcher of the show, I know and you guys should know that grudges and encounters have ramifications way later on in the story.**

 **Don't forget to review and follow if you want to, I like to know if I'm doing anything wrong so I can correct it.**

 **Next chapter: The Wolf welcomes the Stag, but the Lion is one not to trust.**

 **Love you all.**

 _bobberoo98_


	3. Chapter 3 - The Wolf, The Stag, The Lion

**A/N: You guys are seriously the best.**

 **2 chapters gone, and already the story has nearly 30 favs and follows each! Seriously, thank you so much, knowing that this story is actually being read, and what's more, people are liking it, it gives me so much motivation to keep writing. Thank you.**

 **Don't forget to review or PM me if you have anything to say about the story or my writing.**

 **Anyway, here's chapter 3! The story is moving forward now, so let's get into it, enjoy!**

* * *

 _Chapter 3 - The Wolf, The Stag, The Lion_

It had been about a week or two since Lord Stark had announced the coming of the Royal family to Winterfell, and today was the day. Stark banners, a grey direwolf across a white flag, with a green field across the bottom, were hanging proudly on the castle walls, and flags were flying on the tallest towers. The courtyard had been cleared and swept, with multiple guards posted around the main doors and gate. Everyone was working their hardest to present Winterfell as the imposing fortress it was.

Today was the day the North showed off its true power and strength to those from the South.

However, Edward was feeling anything but strong and powerful. He had spent most of the past days helping in the preparation of the castle and castle, and felt more tired than useful.

Despite this, he knew that he couldn't afford to be tired. Not today.

Edward was told by both his father and Lord Stark to meet Jon, Robb and Theon in the butchery, for Gods knows what. He soon found out, though, when he entered to find all three topless, with Theon having finished being shaved and having his hair cut. He gave them all a smile as he entered, except for Theon, with whom he was never going to be nice to.

"Morning all."

Robb gave a cheeky smile. "Looks like Edward is finally going to have a haircut after all. You're looking like my direwolf with all that facial hair!"

Edward gave a chuckle in response, before taking off his shirt like the others had, revealing his slim, yet muscular build.

Of course, Edward wasn't muscular or strong in comparison to, say, the Mountain, Gregor Clegane, but his arms, chest and abdomen still showed a sinewy, rippling set of muscles that proved that what he lacked in overall strength, he made up for in endurance and fitness.

Noticing that Jon and Theon were tensing their abs to the point where Edward thought they would pass out in an attempt to out-do each other in terms of masculinity, he silently laughed and shook his head slightly, and left them to it.

Robb was next to get the shaving/haircut treatment from Tommy, the castle butcher and shearer, and part-time barber. The reason for this was because his expertise in precisely and accurately cutting and shaving sheep was also useful in the practice of hairdressing. Not that any of the elder boys couldn't shave properly, but in the circumstances, an experienced hand was needed.

Robb had just finished having his dark auburn hair trimmed into fine, small locks (in comparison to Jon) and was now in the middle of receiving a close shave, when Jon spoke up to the Stark heir, portraying annoyance. _Probably from losing the ab-tensing contest,_ Edward remarked in his head.

"Why is your mother so dead set on us getting pretty for the King?"

Theon interjected, his smirk still in place on his newly shaved face.

"It's for the Queen, I bet. I hear she's a sleek bit of mink."

Robb had his turn to comment, as his shave was being finished.

"I hear the Prince is a right royal prick." He said bitterly.

"Think of all the Southern girls he gets to stab with his right royal prick." Theon answered.

Before Robb could respond, he was finished, and stood up to address Edward as he passed him.

"Go on Tommy, shear him good. Finally we'll be able to distinguish between him and Jon!"

This elicited a laugh from Theon, whom Robb was laughing with. Edward sat down, as Tommy began to cut through his now thick mop of hair, and feigned annoyance.

"I'm going to kill Jory for talking about that to you guys."

"Sure you will. Ed."

The utterance from Theon of the Cassel's hated nickname earned the Ironborn a death glare that probably would have been a punch, had Edward not have been getting a shave. His hair had already been cut, with the hair no longer that long or curly, yet the ends of Edward's locks did do so. However, it was a good look, how he intended it; windswept and slightly roguish.

As he was receiving a close shave like the others, Edward's mind couldn't help but drift to the thoughts of Sansa. Secretly, he wanted his cleaner hairstyle and shaven face to impress her, but he knew that one, she would be used to his hairstyles and subtle charm no matter how handsome he was, and two, she would most likely, if he knew her as well as he did, be dreaming and hoping to impress Queen Cersei and the Crown Prince, Joffrey.

Well, if he was the one she was aiming to go for, Edward inwardly hoped the rumours were false and he wasn't what Robb described him as. Despite knowing he had almost no chance with Sansa, Edward did want the best for her, because a proper and polite beauty like her deserved someone as dashing and gallant as the knights in her fairytales.

 _Someone like me….._

Slightly shaking his head to rid the thoughts of self-pity and bittersweetness from his mind, he turned his attention to the increasingly intense and heated discussion the other boys were having about how long it would take them to complete a lap of the outer walls of Winterfell.

 _Great. Another contest of fitness, how original_.

Edward didn't really want to get involved in the argument/discussion, as he knew he knew it would end up with him or Theon getting a bloody nose, so when he was done, he left to prepare a bath and get ready for the arrival.

* * *

After taking a quick yet relaxing hot bath that eased any tense muscles in his body, Edward had just put on his undershirt and trousers when his room's door was knocked on.

"Come in." Edward responded to the knock.

The door opened, and the person who entered was none other than the young Northerner's father, Ser Rodrick, who was carrying what looked like some clothes. Edward gave a small nod and brief curl of his lips in greeting, which Rodrick returned.

"Father."

"Hello son. I've got something for you to wear when the King arrives."

The old knight laid out a grey and black doublet that looked quite normal at first sight, but when looked at in greater detail, he could see the fine work put into it. About ten small grey direwolf heads, much like a mini Stark sigil, were stitched cleverly into the chest area of the doublet, and deliberately faded against the black cloth.

Most would assume that this was fitting of a Stark, and they wouldn't be wrong, but for those who didn't know, ten direwolves was the sigil of House Cassel, partly as the most loyal house to the Starks, but also as a proud sign of their Northern heritage.

Edward grinned a grateful smile. "Thank you so much, Father. This must have cost a lot!"

Ser Rodrick gave a rare smile that was only shown to his family.

"Don't worry about the cost, son. Just make sure you wear it with pride today. Starks, Lannisters and Baratheons aren't the only Houses on show."

"I will, Father."

Edward gave a one-handed hug to his father in thanks, which was returned by Ser Rodrick, who continued once the hug was broken.

"Now, put it on, and get ready. Be in the courtyard when you're finished."

Ser Rodrick then left Edward's room, leaving him to get dressed. Edward put on the fine Cassel doublet, along with his boots, and attached his sword belt on, with the blade sheathed on his left side. Fixing on his wolf fur cloak, he wet his hair, and styled it to look as reasonably smart as he could get it, with the messy curls he had straightened and flattened a little, and strode out of his room to join his family and the Starks in the courtyard.

* * *

Edward stood there, his wolf fur cloak on, like the others, with his sword at his side, and grinning in excitement for the arrival of the King and the Royal party. He stood next to Jon on his right, with Maester Luwin beside him on his left, and his father, cousin and Theon in the same row. In the row in front of him, stood the Stark family; Rickon alongside his mother Catelyn, with Eddard on her right, and on his right, stood Robb, Sansa, and Bran. Arya was nowhere to be seen, although Edward expected that she would turn up soon.

And almost on cue, the young Stark daughter came running across to take her spot next to Sansa, who looked a vision of beauty as always in Edward's eye. Lord Stark stopped her though, as she was wearing one of the Stark helmets that soldiers wore.

"What are you doing with that on?" Ned asked rhetorically, as Edward, Robb and Jon smirked to themselves. _Classic Arya_.

And almost as soon as Arya forced her way in between Bran and Sansa, the unmistakable noise of hoofbeats sounded across the courtyard.

The entire Stark family and household watched as the entourage of the Royal family of King's Landing entered the castle courtyard. Firstly, a member of the famed Kingsguard, in shining golden-white armour, rode in, with a golden haired boy, no older than Edward or Robb, dressed in crimson red overalls and a black furred cloak, coming in behind. Edward presumed that this must be one of the Princes.

However, his attention was caught by the presence of a giant of a man on horseback, complete with armour, and a _fucking dog's head steel helmet_. If there was one man that could inspire fear in the hearts of friend and foe alike, then it was this guy. However, Edward inwardly mused that this guy didn't have many friends if he had a helmet like that.

The Prince brought his horse to a stop, a smirk crossing his features as he looked at the group.

Or rather, Sansa Stark.

Robb and Edward could see the look of adoration already plastered on the young redhead's pretty face at the sight of the Prince, and both gave stern gazes at the blonde boy; Robb, because of brotherly protection, and Edward out of jealousy that Sansa would so readily like a boy she had literally just seen.

Then again, this was the so-called dashing prince that she had believed in all her life, so maybe it wasn't that bad. Edward decided to make sure whether this Prince, who was only interested in looking at the eldest Stark daughter, was worth her affection

The royal carriage, assumingly holding the Queen and the other two of her children, now entered the courtyard, followed by about three other Kingsguard. They were surrounding a man on horseback, who had fierce dark blue eyes, a greying yet mainly black bushy beard, a natural scowl on his features that could rival that of the Lord of Winterfell.

The man rode into the centre of the courtyard, a commanding air of authority that only the King of the Seven Kingdoms could possess. This was Robert Baratheon, a lifelong friend to Eddard Stark, and a brother to him. He had a reputation as one of the greatest military fighters and commanders in history, having won his own Rebellion against the Targaryen dynasty.

Only, Edward thought to himself, he didn't expect him to be so _fat_.

King Robert had to have one of his Kingsguard set a stool down for him to dismount his horse. One would have laughed, if he wasn't the King and such rudeness would possibly cost one their head.

As the King approached, Ned kneeled and bowed his head, as was he was honour and duty-bound to do so. Everyone else kneeled too, showing their support and fealty to Robert.

Edward gladly kneeled too, as he was fine with showing fealty to the only other person than his liege lord. Plus, he had no reason to even think otherwise, yet a thought in the back of his mind told him how funny it would be if he randomly didn't bow to the King. Pushing it away, he bowed his head as he waited on one knee for the King, as did everyone else.

Eventually, Robert marched over to stand in front of Ned, and motioned with his hand for him to rise. As Ned did, everyone else did too.

As the King was closer to him, Edward could see the effects of ruling for 17 years had taken their toll on Robert. Dark circles under his eyes, his beard being very scruffy, and his hair greying more so than normal for a 40-something year old man. Or maybe it was the long journey through the harsh Northern landscape that did it.

Either way, the Robert Baratheon that Lord Stark had talked about to him and the Stark children looked like a different man compared to the one standing before them.

"Your Grace" Ned greeted Robert, nodding his head in polite and honourable respect, his voice serious and solemn.

"You've got fat." The King addressed the Lord of Winterfell, stating it as if he was a disappointed parent.

A few seconds of slightly tense silence lasted in the Winterfell courtyard. Ned reacted to the remark by subtly nodding his eyes at Robert's own belly, that looked as if it could house a stag that was emblazoned on the Baratheon flags and sigil.

As quick as the silence lasted, it was dispelled as both heads of their Houses burst into laughter that only those of old friends could share. They gave each other an embrace, and Robert turned to address Lady Catelyn and the children. He gave Robb a firm and respectful handshake, and gave a comment on Sansa's beauty, to which she gave a smile and demurely turned her gaze away.

As Robert was greeting everyone, Edward could see that a woman, golden blonde of hair, and which a sharply beautiful face that could radiate danger as much as beauty, stepped down from the carriage with her two youngest children.

 _Cersei Lannister._ Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

The young Cassel overheard Arya whispering to Sansa about the man on horseback, in decorated Kingsguard armour, who had just taken off his helm to show equally golden locks as the Queen, and an arrogant smirk on his face that equalled that of the crown Prince.

 _Jaime Lannister._ Twin brother to Cersei, and member of Robert's Kingsguard, although known for another infamous feat. _The Kingslayer._

The Queen walked over to the Stark family and her husband, whose expression darkened slightly in response to her presence.

Ned bent down to kiss Cersei's hand that she had offered in cold politeness. Both he and Catelyn greeted her with "My Queen", to which Cersei simply gave an indifferent, yet slightly warm smile.

Robert, stood to the side, addressed Ned again.

"Take me to your crypt. I want to pay my respects."

"We've been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait." Cersei said, an undertone of tiredness in the sentence.

The King just blatantly ignored his wife and marched off, signaling for his Northern friend to follow. Ned gave the Queen an apologetic glance and strode off to the Winterfell crypts.

"Where's the Imp?" the sound of Arya's voice being the only one in the courtyard brought Cersei's attention to the young Lady, to which she walked over to her brother and told him to "find the little beast". Jaime then went off to find his younger brother.

After that, the groups dispersed mainly, some to introduce and talk to each other, and some to do their jobs and prepare for accommodation and the feast to be held later that evening.

This was when Edward saw the Prince walk up to Sansa, his gait and walk radiating pure self-obsessiveness and arrogance. Sansa, channeling all of her etiquette lessons over the years, gave a perfect curtsey to the Queen and her son, who began to talk to her, a smirk that could rival Theon's on his face.

Edward couldn't help but feel envy crawl down his spine at the sight. How was it that a boy, not even a day older than him, that Sansa had never met until this point, could earn a look of complete and utter affection from her, that Edward had been seeking for most of his teenage life?

As he watched the two converse quietly from afar, he could see that gorgeous smile, that made Sansa's eyes shine more so than the deepest and brightest blue sky, directed towards Joffrey. Edward had always wanted to see that smile from the moment he found out his feelings for Sansa. Of course, she had shown it in brief moments between them, but never like the radiant grin she was showing the Prince.

"I don't like him either."

Edward turned his head away from the two in front of him to find Robb standing beside him, a similar distrusting look on his face, only Edward guessed it was out of brotherly love and concern for Sansa.

"Was it really that obvious?"

"Yep."

Edward chuckled mirthlessly. He couldn't help but feel like punching Joffrey in the face, if it meant that it would wipe that cocky little grin off it.

"Well, he better be like all those princes in the fairytales, because if Sansa isn't treated right…."

Robb noticed the threat was left hanging. He was always sure Edward held some sort of feelings for Sansa, yet he never thought he would get so…

"Are you jealous, Edward?" Robb questioned, although it was designed as a half tease, half genuine concern question.

Edward quickly snapped his head to bore his gaze into Robb, his cheeks and face becoming flushed with embarrassment.

"No! Not at all- I mean, not to say Sansa is very beautiful- I'm sure many men would get jealous-"

"Easy there," The Stark heir firmly hung his right arm around Edward's shoulders in order to calm him down, a smile on his face, "it's not a crime to like someone, Edward. Especially my sister. I know you have a little crush on her, you don't need to deny it."

With that Edward did stop tensing his muscles in fear, and gave a big sigh, as if he was defeated.

"It doesn't matter anyway. She's finally met a dashing prince from her stories and she'll go off and be happy. I've never meant that much to her apart from smiling and being nice to her, which I'm sure _everyone_ does."

"Hey, she'll still remember you with fondness. You're the one who gave her Lady."

This earnt a small smile on Edward's shaved face. Robb gave a small chuckle of his own.

"Besides, I wouldn't mind if you two got together, you're someone I know I can trust and take care of her. So far, I'm not sure this Southern Prince even has the ability to compliment her, let alone protect her."

This brought about a small laughing fit from the two boys, who noticed that Joffrey was only talking about 'feats' he had accomplished in the past, and hadn't even bothered to talk about Sansa at all.

Still, at least Edward knew that Robb would have approved.

However, this brought a sudden realisation to the young Cassel as the eldest Stark was walking off to the castle.

"Robb."

The address made him turn and look at Edward.

"Yeah?"

"Please don't tell Theon I like her. Or anyone else, for that matter."

Robb gave a knowing smirk on his face that only appeared when he had an opportunity to gossip, for he was as bad as a fisherman's wife when it came to secret information.

"Don't worry, friend. My lips are sealed."

* * *

As much as he enjoyed spending company with his family and friends, Edward didn't have a like for feasts.

Especially big ones, with the entire Royal court.

The young Cassel was sat on one of the huge long tables in the middle, in amongst all the Stark men, including his father. Everyone was drinking, and there was good food and music in the Main Hall of Winterfell. Lots of big candles managed to light up the place very well and gave it a homely, comfortable feeling.

He didn't mind occasions such as these, but having eaten as much as he wanted - not as much as others, yet enough to satisfy the hunger - and having drank about two cups of wine, which was a huge rarity for him, as he had experienced hangovers before, it all became a tad overwhelming.

It was quite late into the night, and people were all moving about the tables, with the exception of Lady Stark and the Queen at the high table. Robb and all the other Stark children were seated at the closest table to the high one, and all seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Although, the same could not be said for the young Cassel, who couldn't help but feel growing jealous rage at the sight of Prince Joffrey, who was giving sneering glances in the direction of Sansa, who was blushing in response to the Prince's looks.

Plus, Edward was sure that he would throw up if he had to see King Robert eat or drink any more than he had. It was almost unnatural.

Deciding that he needed a little air in order to calm down and get rid of the haze in his vision caused by the wine, Edward marched/stormed out of the hall.

Upon walking outside of the hall and into the courtyard, Edward could practically feel the haze of the wine in his vision fade as the sharp, cold Winterfell air cleared his senses and managed to calm his breathing. Taking deep breaths, Edward didn't think that air could be so nice.

Glad to be out of the hall, Edward walked around a bit, trying to gather some thoughts on what had happened recently, mainly Lord Stark's decision to travel to King's Landing as Robert's Hand.

He really wanted to go with him. Not just because Jory would be going, as Captain and head of the household guard, but because Sansa would be too. Even though he knew she would be relatively safe, he felt a small but driving urge to look after her.

 _As if she was yours to protect_ , the cynical, logical voice in his head told him.

As much as he hated it, the voice was right. Who was he to follow his heart and try and woo a Lady of House Stark, that was betrothed to the Crown Prince of Westeros and didn't even remotely feel the same feelings for him anyway.

Still, he did want to go anyway. Unrequited love aside, Edward always wanted to follow his cousin's footsteps and become a member of the household guard. It was why he had trained hard to become skilled in swordplay and horse riding, and his honourable moral code couldn't hurt when serving, either.

Besides, his father had always told him that serving a Noble House was an honour, but serving a House that you are devoted to, and that is devoted to you in return? A privilege that very rarely happens to men.

"Troubled, ser?"

The elegantly pronounciated voice brought Edward out of his train of thought abruptly, causing him to spin around to the source of it, next to the kennels.

A dwarf, with dark blonde hair and wearing dark red overalls, stood there, a leather skin in his hand, presumably with wine in it, considering that his words were slightly slurred. Despite that, the man seemed to be able to speak rather well. Perhaps he was an experienced drinker, unlike Edward, who couldn't handle two drinks before feeling the effects. Perhaps that was why he couldn't identify the man.

Deciding that responding to the question instead of staring dumbstruck at the dwarfish man, Edward replied.

"I'm fine, thank you. I'm not a knight, but thank you for the compliment."

"Beg my pardon, friend. You certainly look like one. My brother on the other hand, it is the way he walks that gives it away, that is, if you didn't recognise the Kingsguard armour."

Edward felt like slapping himself. How could he be so stupid?!

"Lord Tyrion- forgive me- I-I"

Tyrion Lannister gave a warm smile.

"Don't worry, friend. I'm sure wine causes us to go stupid at one point or another. What is your name, might I ask?"

Struggling to think for a second, Edward gave his answer.

"Edward Cassel."

Tyrion raised his drink skin in greeting. "Nice to meet you, Edward Cassel."

He raised the skin to his lips but he stopped, before asking a question.

"Is your father the knight Rodrick Cassel?"

"The very same, my Lord."

"Good man, Ser Rodrick. I heard he single-handedly led the assault on the island of Harlaw in the Greyjoy Rebellion."

"He did. It's why he got knighted by King Robert." Edward replied, a hint of proudness in his voice.

Tyrion smiled. "You're proud of him, aren't you?"

"Of course. I'm sure you must be proud of your father for his achievements, like being Hand of the King."

The comment made Tyrion give a mirthless, hollow chuckle.

"If only. The day will never come when I am proud of my father, although if he stopped acting as if I was a bastard to him then that would be a start."

Suddenly feeling a little awkward at Tyrion's comment on his father/son relationship, Edward remained silent and looked away.

"Though, you should tell your friend Jon Snow to stop being so miserable. I am a Lannister of Casterly Rock, he is a lowly bastard of the North, and yet, I would try and fight off a horde of Dothraki screamers blindfolded if I could get even half the affection and attention your Lord Stark gives him."

Tyrion's remark made Edward give a hearty laugh, which made the little Lord chuckle as well.

"I will, my Lord. I hope we meet again at some point in the future."

"The feeling is mutual, Edward Cassel. Though, I must admit and regret, that it is time I slept. The hangover in the morning will kill me if I don't get a few hours in."

With that, Lord Tyrion waddled off drunkenly to find a suitable spot to sleep.

Feeling the effects of the wine starting to hurt his head, Edward also agreed bed would be the best option.

Stumbling through the courtyard, the cold air no longer clearing his head as it did, Edward saw a familiar face, hacking away at a straw dummy as if it would kill him if he didn't hit it with his blunted practice sword.

"You alright there Jon?"

The bastard of Winterfell stopped mutilating the dummy and turned, his breath billowing out into the cold air in waves, due to the exertion of his swordplay.

"Edward? I thought you were at the feast."

"Nah, I never was a huge fan of them. Got a bit stuffy."

Before he could stop himself, Edward tripped over his own feet and landed in the dirt, the wine now clouding his senses. Jon dropped his sword and ran over to the Cassel, and helped him up.

"How much have you had to drink?" Jon asked incredulously.

"Only two cups, honest."

Jon just started laughing, as he supported Edward's weight and helped him into the castle and to his room. After a while, the laughing infected Edward, and they were giggling like two young girls.

"I can't wait to see how you handle sword training tomorrow if your footing is going to be as poor as that."

"I'll still thrash your ars-"

Edward would have finished his playful retort at Jon, if he hadn't have thrown up over the steps leading to the corridor that contained his room.

Jon, whilst cringing at the smell of the wine and pork flavoured sick that Edward just spewed out, couldn't help but scoff in slight disbelief, a teasing smile on his shaven face.

"You are such a lightweight, brother."

 **I'm also sorry for taking this long to upload this chapter, guys. I will try to keep to a relatively good schedule, but I must warn you, the next few weeks will be busy for me, as I am moving into university very soon and will need to settle down. So, don't be surprised if you don't hear from me for a week or two.**

 **Either way, again I must thank all of you who have favourited and/or followed this story, and to all those who are just giving it a read. It means so much to me and it definitely helps me to keep writing this, reviews and more favs and follows are always welcome.**

 **I hope you've enjoyed this chapter, like I've said before, the story is rolling forward now, and it's definitely going to get interesting, so stick around for more.**

 _ **Next chapter hint:**_ **friendships and rivalries are forged and tested between the great Houses, and a seemingly tragic accident sets events in motion that will greatly affect the Game of Thrones.**

 **Love you all.**

 _bobberoo98._


	4. Chapter 4 - Let the Game Begin

**A/N: Hello everyone! Guess who's back! *Eminem plays in background***

 **I apologise for taking so long with this chapter, I've recently moved into university and trying to settle in is hard work, and very tiring too. So, I'm sorry for not putting enough attention into this story over the past month. I'm also sorry for how long this intro will be, but bear with me.**

 **But seriously guys, I can't thank any of you enough for the support I'm getting for this story. Favs and follows are now at least 30 each, and there have been over 1,000 views on the story so far! I am so grateful for it, and I have to thank all of you who have read it, and faved and followed it so far.**

 **A special mention and thanks goes to CunningSlytherin, who in their very lovely review spoke about the relationship between Edward and Sansa, and how he would win her over. Now, I'm glad this was brought up, because I wanted to address it anyway as I didn't sooner (apologies for that.):**

 **Edward and Sansa are the main pairing in this story, as I personally really enjoy Sansa and her character, even though she was a spoilt brat and got completely fucked over in the first couple of seasons. Whilst they definitely aren't the only pairing in my story, they will be the main one, and considering how long I intend for this story to last - and I mean LONG - I will be trying to make the pairing a very slow burner. Another reason for this is because of the two's characters; Whilst Edward does have a crush on Sansa, he doesn't expect it to go anywhere, and so mainly ignores those feelings, and Sansa at the start is the same one from Season 1, and is completely naive and obsessed with Joffrey, so there's no way that she'd think of Edward like he would to her.**

 **With that in mind, this story is about evolving feelings and relationships as much as it is about the themes of love, power, war, betrayal, and injustice. Whilst I intend to make the world of Westeros as dark and desperate as it is shown in the books and TV show, I also allow for there to be a little bit of happiness and love. However, don't expect for things to turn good immediately. The reason why I got hooked on the show was because of the grim realism portrayed, which is why the nice moments were extra sweet. The love and pairings will come, but not for a long while yet, because darkness and death is coming before it.**

 **Again, sorry for the long note, but I wanted to clarify that this is a slow burner and not a miraculous deux-ex machina ridiculous story where everything perfectly fits into place instantly. Things will mess up, people will get fucked over, and things will be bad before they get good.**

 **With that sorted, enjoy chapter 4!**

* * *

 _Chapter 4 - Let the Game Begin_

As Edward sat down for breakfast with his family, the Starks and the Royal family, all he could feel was a pounding headache throbbing behind his eyes. He didn't even hear his cousin or father greet him, due to all of his focus being on pushing his hangover to the back of his mind.

Now, Edward wasn't much of an experienced drinker, and it clearly showed; his hair was even messier than usual, with his locks spiking up in more random directions than usual, his eyes were quite bloodshot from lack of sleep and had dark circles under them, and his throat felt like it had been grinded on a whetstone. Not to mention that he had almost thrown his guts up last night too.

All that after two measly cups of wine. Jon was right, he was an utter lightweight.

After trying to avoid any type of talking with anyone, and failing to attempt to eat any of the bacon and dark fruits and fish on display in front of him in fear of puking again, Jory had noticed his symptoms, and showed sympathy towards his younger family member.

"Edward, here, drink this."

The Captain of the Guard poured a cup of red, dark liquid and placed it in front of Edward on the table they were seated at.

One look at the goblet of wine and Edward snapped his head to glare incredulously at Jory, but immediately regretted it as pain lanced through his neck and head. He pressed his hand up against his forehead to try and relieve the pain as he spoke.

"Why are you giving me more wine? It'll only make it worse."

"You're wrong, little one. A little bit of wine helps to get rid of it for a while, because that is what your body needs to stop the headache. That way, you can ease out of it instead of suffering."

Seeing the sense in helping to ease his way out of being hungover, Edward reluctantly began taking small sips of the drink. Almost instantly, the pain started to go away, leaving only a bearable, dull ache at the back of his skull.

"Besides Edward, you're going to need a clear head in training today." Jory stated with a smirk.

"Why's that?" the young Cassel questioned, rather cautious of what Jory would respond with.

"Because you and Robb will be facing and fighting with Prince Joffrey."

Instinctively trying to stop spitting out the wine he was drinking in shock, Edward managed to swallow the liquid before giving yet another stunned look at his cousin.

"Wait, what?"

* * *

He definitely wasn't looking forward to it earlier, as the prospect of facing off against the Crown Prince and heir to the Iron Throne was quite daunting, and scary if he accidentally injured him severely. Gods knew what the King and Queen would do to him if that happened.

Now, he was almost finding it amusing.

Edward stood there at the edge of the training pen, dressed in his Northern leather overalls, a hidden smirk on his face as he watched Robb basically thrashing the shit out of Joffrey, with the Prince whimpering and wincing every time Robb's ironwood practice sword hit his body or his own practice sword.

Eventually, Robb either had grown tired from beating Joffrey, or bored of the snivelling Prince's cowardice and lack of experience with a sword, because he stopped fighting and left Joffrey in the dirt, and looked victoriously at Ser Rodrick, who was taking charge of the session, as usual.

"Right then, I think Robb has won that spar, my Prince. Come on, out of the training ring, Robb." Ser Rodrick stated, glancing at both combatants and then at his son, as if to signal his turn at swordplay against the still grounded and defeated Prince.

Edward strode confidently into the ring, his practice sword in hand, a confident smile on his features as he passed Robb, who wore a similar smirk. Edward knew the Stark heir had enjoyed that very one-sided battle, probably because he was secretly testing Joffrey's mettle and worthiness.

The Cassel heir, however, wanted to release some steam. Some very heated steam. Along with the news that Lord Stark was to be the new Hand of the King, it was also announced that Prince Joffrey and Lady Sansa were to be betrothed to each other, and married once they were both of adulthood, or when Joffrey became King.

Of course, Edward had expected it as soon as the two saw each other, but old habits and feelings die hard, as the young Northerner could not help but feel annoyed and extremely jealous at the young Prince. Despite feeling a sting at the knowledge that his own feelings would have gone nowhere anyway, it didn't mean that those feelings would just dissipate instantly.

Why should he earn the hand and affections of one of the prettiest and kind-hearted ladies in all the realm? Just because of his stupid bloodright?

 _He can't even fight properly. He wouldn't even be able to defend her from danger._

With his self-pity and loathing thoughts manifesting his anger into a barely hidden scowl that eradicated his smirk, Edward spun his practice sword in his right hand to prepare himself for the absolute hiding he would give the Prince. When he got up off the ground, at least.

Still wincing from the many bruises Robb would have administered to his body, Joffrey stood up and got into a fighting stance, as did Edward, with more prowess, since he had been taught it for years.

As was custom to distracting his opponent, Edward let loose a challenging insult.

"Ready to end up on your arse again, my Prince?" he snarled, accentuating the "Prince" to mock him.

It seemed to work, as Joffrey gripped his sword more tightly, and even dared to retort, his light voice betraying the tone of anger he tried to put in it.

"We'll see how you talk to me when it's you who is beaten."

Joffrey ran at Edward, hoping to give a heavily swung blow to the Cassel. Edward simply stepped to the side, but left out his foot, ending up in Joffrey tripping over it and falling to the ground again.

"I don't see how you're going to beat me with a move like that. Your stance and grip is all wrong, my Prince. I wonder how your lady will react to your improper military discipline." Edward mocked, a smirk returning to his face.

Deciding to go against his ego by including Sansa in it was below his honour to say it, but Edward didn't care. Seeing Joffrey beaten and angry was proving to be very satisfying, and was serving to ease his jealousy at the Prince.

Joffrey, red in the face from embarrassment and rage, stood up immediately and pointed his sword at the smirking Edward. "How dare you speak to me like that!"

Swinging his sword repeatedly in an attempt to hit Edward, who was retreating backwards as he strode forward, Joffrey entered into what his father called an "immature tantrum". Not caring about his stance or footing, or about his balance, he looked a spitting image of a 6 year old Robb trying to swing a sword for the first time.

Edward would have burst into laughter, had he not been in the situation he was in. However, he had a more important idea on his mind.

Allowing Joffrey to move forward whilst swinging his sword haphazardly, Edward held his own practice sword in front of him, pointing it at the raging Prince, who in his tantrum, wasn't focusing on where he was actually swinging.

Edward stopped walking backwards. Joffrey kept moving forward, hoping his sword would connect with something, anything. And it did.

As the two ironwood swords connected, the sudden surprise that hit Joffrey caused him to stumble, as the rhythm from swinging his sword was abruptly stopped.

Edward had predicted this, and and when the Prince had recoiled from the clashing swords, he went on the offensive. Much like what had happened when he had fought with Robb, Edward marched forward, with Joffrey stumbling backwards trying to regain his feet. Every time Joffrey held up his sword to try and balance himself, the Cassel swatted it away with his own, until eventually the beaten Prince landed on his behind in the Winterfell dirt.

"Yield! I yield!" the squirming Prince shrieked, throwing his sword away from his grounded body and holding up his hands in fear.

As Edward stood there, watching Joffrey beg for mercy, he desperately wanted to just beat the _living shit_ out of him with his ironwood sword. Sweet, sweet satisfaction in response to his and Sansa's betrothal. His teeth grit, and jaw set, as he lifted his sword as if to strike.

However, Edward threw his sword to the ground, but retained the serious, almost _hateful_ expression. As much as he wanted to indulge in his jealously and hurt the cowardly Prince for _somehow_ winning Sansa's hand when he had no redeeming qualities whatsoever, he knew he couldn't. Regardless if he hit him or not, Sansa would still marry Joffrey, and not him.

His honour, and logic, as it had for years now, prevailed over emotion and passion.

As a sign of respect, albeit grudgingly, so that those watching were appeased, he offered his hand to Joffrey, who took it reluctantly. Helping him up to his feet, Edward did allow himself to whisper one small insult to the Prince.

"Good luck winning future battles fighting like that, my Prince."

Another look of anger on Joffrey's face made Edward think that he would go into another tantrum, but instead the golden-haired Baratheon stormed out of the training ring and inside the Winterfell castle.

"Probably going to bawl to his mother, most likely."

Edward noticed Robb had come to stand by his side as he said that, and gave a suppressed scoff in amusement at the remark.

"Insulting the crown Prince won't do you any favours, Robb. Best you not say such things." Ser Rodrick admonished the Stark heir.

Robb bowed his head acknowledgement. "Aye, you're probably right, Ser Rodrick. Are we done for the day?"

"When you return your practice swords to the armoury, aye."

As Robb and Edward went to take the ironwood swords and put them back, Ser Rodrick stopped his son.

"Well done today, son. Keep it up, and you'll become a fine fighter, better than I ever will."

Edward was quite surprised at his father's compliment. Smiling, he thanked him.

"Thank you father. That means a lot to hear it from you."

"But," Edward almost rolled his eyes. Of course his father would have some form of criticism for him. "Arrogance won't get you very far in a fight. Stay humble and focused. Alright?"

Lowering his head as a sign of slight shame, Edward thought back to the fight. Of course he was a bit headstrong, being an able fighter caused that, but why did he become so, so…..

 _Ruthless?_

Thinking back to that moment where he wanted to beat an unarmed Prince at his mercy, Edward felt his cheeks tinge with red with embarrassment. He wanted to be known as an honourable fighter, much like Lord Stark and his father, so why did he almost break his moral code? Just so he could indulge in his jealousy at a boy who was betrothed to the girl that he had an infatuation with? An infatuation that would never be replicated?

 _Joffrey had nothing to do with that marriage proposal, and Sansa has never been happier. Perhaps I'm the one at fault._

Looking back up to his father, Edward replied.

"I understand, father. I'm sorry."

"I don't think it's me who you should apologise to, son. The Prince isn't as skilled a warrior as you are, perhaps you should go and say sorry to him for being too hard on him."

Edward nodded his agreement. As he made to walk off, however, Ser Rodrick placed his hand on his shoulder.

"When you're done, come back and find me and Jory. We'll need you when Lord Stark and King Robert return from their hunt."

"Yes father."

"Good lad."

Ser Rodrick gave his son a small but warm smile, which was reciprocated by his son, before he went to find Prince Joffrey.

* * *

The golden haired Prince, after suffering quite the humiliation at the hands of Edward and Robb, had stormed off - predictably - to find his mother. He was now pacing across the Queen's guest room, although it could be called marching, judging by how angry he was. The red in his cheeks could be adjudged to the blazing fire in the hearth, but Cersei knew that it was out of rage and embarrassment.

"How dare those savage idiots beat me like that? Thinking that they are worthy enough to fight me!"

The Queen almost rolled her eyes. Joffrey had always been exaggerative and dramatic, and this was no exception.

The Prince continued. "He even dared to have the nerve to insult me!"

Knowing that appeasing her son and going along with his rants were the best way to get him to calm, Cersei asked a question or two.

"Who insulted you? What did he say?"

An angry glint in his eye, Joffrey gestured wildly with his arms.

"That friend of the Stark boy, Robb. Looks almost like him."

"Was it Lord Stark's bastard? The Snow?"

Joffrey shook his head, pacing whilst looking at the floor deep in thought.

"No, no. The Starks are too honourable to have a bastard in my presence, besides, he wouldn't stand a chance against me anyway."

Another roll of the eyes from Cersei. Even though he was having a tantrum about being beaten by a peasant for all she knew, her son was still arrogant enough to boast of his fighting skills, of which she knew he had none. Of course, she would never admit that to him.

 _He'll become a strong golden lion in time, and a fine King._

A knock on the door alerted Cersei and Joffrey to the present.

"Yes?" The Queen asked to the guard on duty who had knocked.

"I have someone here to see the Prince. Says he's here to apologise for earlier about something."

Joffrey's eyes widened in realisation at who it was and called for the door to be opened.

In stepped a rather sheepish boy, the same age as Joffrey, two years from adulthood. Dark, thick hair, splayed out messily as if he had just woken from bed. However, it seemed like it couldn't be styled any differently, despite best efforts.

His hazel brown eyes looking upon both Cersei and Joffrey, his shaven face portrayed slight fear, yet humility.

Trying to remember his etiquette lessons, the Northerner bowed deeply, and with surprising fluid movement.

"Your Grace, my Prince. I hope I haven't intruded." The boy addressed.

Cersei cocked her head slightly in confusion and intrigue. She didn't expect this frankly brutish Northerner to be so articulate, nor have quite a Southern accent. There was almost no trace of Northern tones in his voice, and, take away the appearance, he could've been mistaken for someone born in the South, not a son of the North.

The Queen smiled that cold smile that she had perfected during her time ruling.

"No, of course not, my dear. May I ask your name?"

The boy coughed to clear his throat.

"Edward, of House Cassel, your Grace."

Another smile from Cersei.

"I assume your father is Ser Rodrick, Edward?"

Edward gave a small smile in mention of his father, but his brows creased in confusion.

"Yes, your Grace. Forgive me, but how do you know my father?"

"I'm afraid I don't know him personally. However, my husband the King talked of him a lot after knighting him during that godawful Greyjoy Rebellion."

Joffrey chose this moment to intervene on the conversation, his light blue eyes darkening in crude excitement.

"Isn't the youngest Greyjoy here, at Winterfell?"

Edward glanced at the Prince, before hesitating. He didn't really want to talk about Theon, more out of respect for him than dislike. He felt as if Joffrey would use the information to taunt Theon, and nothing made the Greyjoy more angry than that. He knew from experience.

"The Prince just asked you a question." Cersei shot towards Edward, her perfectly done eyebrows raising in slight annoyance.

Edward was shook out of his thoughts. The Queen made him feel quite uneasy, and he was struggling to hide his shaking hands.

"Y-Yes, my Prince, Theon resides here at Winterfell as Lord Stark's ward and squire."

"Is that what you Northerners call a hostage? A ward?" Cersei scoffed, incredulous at the phrase. A victorious smirk crossed her face, like a cat knowing it had caught the mouse.

"Well, your Grace, if you would like to discuss such matters over Theon, I would suggest you find Lord Stark and your husband when they return from the hunt."

The smile dropped almost instantly. Again cocking her head, as if calculating and measuring the young Cassel, she decided to change the subject.

"So then, Edward," Cersei pronounced his name slowly and with a little venom, as if verbally twisting a knife, "I believe you came here to issue an apology."

Nodding his head, Edward turned to Joffrey, who now beared a resentful look towards him.

Trying to choose his words carefully, as so not to incur the wrath of the Queen, or the Prince for that matter, Edward spoke, his articulate and deep tones showing much thought and emotion into his voice.

"My Prince, I would just like to apologise for my over-zealousness during the sword fight earlier. I shouldn't have been so harsh in my actions, considering that you have not been tutored in the art of swordplay as much as me, or Robb Stark. I hope that there will be no ill will between us, and that this can be forgotten."

Edward then offered his hand, in a show of respect and acceptance of his words. Often his father and Lord Stark had taught him that a handshake is much more forgiving and affirming than a bow or kneeling, since it showed a sense of equality between those at feud.

However, Joffrey looked almost shocked. Caught off-guard by the sincere apology and handshake, he was expecting for Edward to kneel and beg for his forgiveness. Instead, he offers his hand as if he were his equal? Who does he think he is?

Luckily, his mother noticed.

"Why are you not kneeling to your Prince?"

Cersei's green eyes glared daggers at Edward, who became visibly afraid at the sight and manner of the question.

Trying to gain his voice back from it being stuck in his throat from fear, Edward replied.

"F-Forgive me your Grace, but I-I was taught that a handshake is always a more sincere gesture of forgiveness, as it demonstrates a sense of equality and friendship, so that it does not differentiate between those in the wrong and not. In fact, my father-"

"I don't want to hear about your father," Cersei retorted sharply, her animalistic motherly nature coming to the fore, "You are being disrespectful to your future King, who is very much above you."

Joffrey, now smirking, knowing that he held the upper hand, despite the work being done by his mother, decided to once again show his bratty arrogance by boasting.

"You are not my equal. You don't even have a title, whereas I am the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. I will not shake your hand. I want you to kneel, and then I might consider your pathetic apology."

If there was one moment which confirmed Edward's thoughts that Joffrey was not even remotely worthy of marrying Sansa, it was this. A cowardly boy who couldn't even swing a sword properly, who always ran behind his mother's skirts and then boasted and lorded his so-called authority over them when he had no reason to.

Looking over at the Queen, Edward noticed the expectant and almost impatient look in her eyes. He could tell, when it came to her children she was absolutely ruthless.

The tension could be cut through with a knife.

Turning his eyes back to Joffrey, and showing through them a glare of contempt, whilst giving a small, acknowledging smile, he got down onto one knee.

"Forgive me, my Prince."

Still smirking, Joffrey responded.

"Remember, you are not my equal."

Still kneeling, Edward looked up to Joffrey, whose eyes had darkened with power. He gestured for him to rise, which Edward gladly did. He answered the golden-haired Baratheon with a forced smile.

"Of course, my Prince."

 _You are below me, Joffrey._

Cersei spoke up again, her cold smile returning to her face, and the gleam in her eye replaced with disinterest.

"Thank you for the apology Edward."

A similar feign of interest appeared with the Cassel, who bowed deeply as before.

"Of course, your Grace. If you'll excuse me, I have business to attend. I believe Lord Stark and the King will return soon."

A nod from the Queen sent Edward out of the room. She then turned her attention to Joffrey.

"Go and find your uncle Jaime when he returns from the hunt. They should be back now."

As if on cue, the sound of hoofbeats from outside her window brought attention to the fact that the hunting party had returned.

Joffrey simply left the room to fulfill his mother's request. This left Cersei alone in her room. She got up from her seat next to the fire in the hearth and poured some wine.

As she drank, she thought about the Northern boy, Edward. He had a knack for the game. Clearly he could hide his true emotions and play well.

 _Interesting._

* * *

As soon as Edward left the room and entered into the Winterfell courtyard, he shakily let out the breath he had been holding.

The Queen unnerved him in so many ways. He couldn't help but be afraid at the thought of that cold smile with those glaring green eyes.

Thankfully a distraction was on hand.

The hunting party, consisting of the King and his soon to be Hand, Lord Stark, and most of the Kingsguard, rode through the Winterfell gates.

"Didn't know you were this eager to wait for them, cousin!"

Edward jumped, as Jory had surprised him with the remark.

"You really have to stop doing that." The younger Cassel retorted with a shove to the elder.

Jory simply laughed.

"Come. Lord Stark will want help with his horses."

* * *

After helping Lord Stark and King Robert with their horses, a huge deer that had been caught and killed during the hunt was to be used for the feast that night.

Edward was soon summoned to the Great Hall, along with his cousin Jory, which was being lit up with plenty of candles to give a warm glow to the room. Sitting at the great table, a goblet of wine each, sat Lord Stark, King Robert, and his father, Ser Rodrick, who seemed to be reminiscing of older times, and enjoying talking together.

Upon noticing the two, Eddard stood and addressed them.

"Ah, just the two I was looking for."

Both bowed to their lord, king, and family member.

"Edward, could you step forward please?" Lord Stark asked, gesturing with his hand for Edward to approach.

Edward kneeled.

"I'm at your service, my Lord."

"Rise, lad."

After doing so, Ned turned his head to look at Ser Rodrick, who nodded. He then turned his attention towards the younger Cassel.

"Your father here has said to me how much you've improved at swordplay."

"Yes, my Lord. I do try my hardest."

Ned smiled warmly.

"I've got no doubt of that, Edward. I've also seen how remarkably able you are with a sword. I haven't seen gifted footwork come that naturally since the days of your father. It must be a family trait."

Edward's cheeks reddened slightly at the compliment.

"Thank you my Lord, your praise means a lot."

Robert, who was again in a semi-drunken state, joined the conversation.

"C'mon Ned, fuckin' tell him already!"

Jory and Edward gave a small chuckle in response to Robert's language. Ned stepped down from the table and walked to stop in front of Edward.

Putting a firm hand on the young Cassel's shoulder, and cutting a fatherly figure, Ned spoke in a warm, almost informal manner, that Edward could've sworn he only used with his children and wife.

"Edward, I've seen you grow up from just a little boy here. I remember the day when Jory and your father were first teaching you how to swing a sword. You ended up giving Robb and Jon bruises all along their bodies."

Edward and Jory laughed, with Ned smiling that rare, fatherly smile.

"I've seen you grow up into a fine young man, Edward. You remind me a lot of your father, who I know is very proud of you. And I know that Jory definitely is as well. If anyone didn't know better, they'd say that you were one of mine."

"It's an honour to have grown up here, my Lord. I count myself very lucky to serve the Starks, and even more so to have them as my friends."

It was Ned's turn to give a small chuckle. Releasing his hand from Edward's shoulder, he continued.

"I know that you, Robb and Jon are very close. It seems a shame that you'll be leaving each other soon."

Edward's head dropped slightly. Jon leaving for the Night's Watch meant that it would just be him and Robb at Winterfell, whilst Sansa and Arya left with Ned for King's Landing.

"Although, I've also heard that you have quite the friendships with my daughters, Edward. Sansa has always spoken highly of you."

Immediately Edward's face blushed bright red, as he snapped his head up. Did Robb tell his father about the secret? Seven Hells, He wouldn't be allowed to look at Sansa again, let alone speak to her!

"About that, my Lord-" The young and frankly embarrassed Cassel tried to make an excuse, but was cut off by Ned.

"But don't think that I don't know about the sword lessons that Arya said you'd give her. I doubt you'd want to face the wrath of her mother if she had even more bruises to go with the ones she already has."

Edward froze. He didn't know? He made a mental note to thank the Old Gods for that ignorance.

"In my defence, my Lord, Lady Arya did insist."

Ned laughed.

"Yes, she is quite the stubborn one. But I have no quarrels against it. I think that you teaching her would be a benefit to her discipline, not to mention the fact that she looks up to you like a brother."

Edward smiled inside. Arya always was quite open hearted, even though she tried to hide it. She saw him and Jon as brothers even though they either weren't full-blood related or even related at all.

"But, my Lord, like you said, Lady Stark would have my head if she found out! Plus, Lady Arya is going with you and Lady Sansa to the capital…"

Ned smiled, although this was more of a smug smirk that tells you that they know something you don't. He glanced at Jory, who wore the same smirk on his face.

Edward's brow creased in confusion.

"What is it? Have I missed something?"

Jory spoke up behind him.

"You're in the history books, cousin."

Edward didn't understand the cryptic answer that Jory had just given him.

"I don't understand what you mean."

He turned his head to Lord Stark, whose face now wore his normal stoic gaze.

"Jory, Ser Rodrick and I have agreed that it is right that you come with me to King's Landing as part of my household guard whilst I serve the King."

Edward's face straightened in realisation. Hurriedly kneeling, he bowed his head in respect.

"I swear, by the Old Gods and the New, that I will not fail you, my Lord. I will protect you and yours with my life."

"I'm sure you will, Edward. You can rise now."

After doing so, Ned bowed his head to Edward, who returned the gesture, a now beaming smile across his face.

Jory came up to give his cousin a bear-like hug, which surprisingly was well received.

"Welcome, the youngest ever member of the Household Guard. How do you feel?" Jory asked, slightly teasingly.

Edward looked at his father, who gave a big smile towards him. He turned back to his cousin, a bigger grin on his features.

"Ready to serve, Captain."

* * *

After joining the Household Guard for Ned Stark, and becoming its youngest ever member at just 16, Edward decided to head towards the Godswood to thank the Old Gods. Most likely he would find Sansa there, as she always came to pray every day at this time.

Religion wasn't really Edward's forte, but he did remember to go and pray every now and then, normally for moments like this.

His head was buzzing from the excitement, in stark contrast (no pun intended) to that morning, where his head was buzzing with the pain of a hangover.

 _Arya is going to be so pleased!_

Although he suspected Sansa would be excited for him too, she had other things to think about - ones that Edward didn't even want to remotely reflect on.

Besides, Arya had always appreciated him more, and now, once in King's Landing, she would be able to get those lessons she always wanted.

A thrill of nervous excitement shot down Edward's spine. Would he be even a good teacher? He didn't know that much about teaching swordplay, as most of his prowess came naturally.

 _I probably shouldn't doubt myself so much. If anything, I can find someone to help me train her._

As Edward passed the broken tower just outside of the Godswood, he was stirred from his thoughts when a flash of white and grey appeared from his right.

 _Summer? What is he doing here?_

The presence of Summer normally meant Bran was around. But Edward couldn't find him anywhere.

He knelt down and stroked the pup's fur. _They're growing up fast._

"Where's Bran? Are you lost, little one?"

The Cassel's question seemed to elicit a response from the direwolf, who started to whine and trot off towards the broken tower, as if he wanted the Northerner to follow.

Accepting the pup's silent request, Edward followed Summer. A small sliver of fear crept into his mind, making him wish he had brought his dagger or sword along, just in case.

Eventually, Edward came across the broken tower's base. At the very foot of it lay a boy, younger than him, no movement coming from him.

Edward's eyes widened fully in shock, his jaw going slack.

 _Oh Gods._

"Bran!"

He sprinted over to the little Lord's body, trying to find any sign of movement from him. Pure panic started to flood his system at the sight of Bran.

Putting his hand over his face, he eventually felt a very small whisper of breath coming from the young Stark. He was still alive. Edward let out a huge breath in relief, but he was still in danger of dying. He needed help, and fast.

Checking his body and head for any immediate wounds, which he found none of so far, Edward felt across his back. However, instead of any bloody wounds, the Cassel could feel that the lower half of Bran's back was clearly broken, judging by the irregular shape of his spine.

This brought more fear into his mind. Bran would die very soon if he didn't have help.

It seemed the Gods were on his side however. As he ran back to the track leading into the Godswood, he spotted someone.

"Sansa!"

* * *

"Sansa!"

Lady Catelyn shouted for her daughter as she walked through the Winterfell hallways. It was very unlike her to be late for getting prepared for a social event, or anything for that matter.

Coming back full circle into the Great Hall, where many were making the place ready for the feast with candles and other small decorations, she went up to her husband, who gave a defeated sigh.

"I can't find her, love. Have you checked the courtyard? Perhaps she is with Robb and Bran."

"I hardly doubt it, Ned. She could be praying in the Godswood, I'll go and find her."

Just as Lady Stark was about to leave, the subject of her worry almost sprinted into the hall, out of breath, her cheeks red from the physical exertion.

Both Lord and Lady Stark came to her immediately.

"Where were you, love?"

"You worried us sick!"

Sansa took a big gulp of air before speaking, her gesturing wildly to outside, a sense of panic on her delicate features.

"You need to bring help!"

Ned tensed. What was wrong?

"What's happened, Sansa?"

Sansa almost shouted her answer.

"Edward told me to run here and get help, he's at the broken tower!"

"Slow down love, is Edward ok? What has he done?"

Sansa looked into her father's eyes, the gleam of happiness gone from her own. Ned's spine shivered in fear as Sansa spoke, tears now falling down her porcelain face.

"He's found Bran father, he's really hurt. He says Bran's fallen from the tower!"

* * *

 **DUN-DUN-DUN.**

 **This is it, the event that started it all. I hope I was able to get the fear and suspense right.**

 **Again, I really want to say sorry for not uploading for a whole month. It's not acceptable, even if I have just moved into university, and I am so sorry. I will try much better from now on.**

 **I hope this chapter was worth the wait. I'm sorry if I didn't get the characterisation right, especially for Cersei. Her character is so complex, it's hard to do sometimes.**

 **But we have a lot of progress happening. Edward is now a member of Ned's household guard, and he has met/clashed with Cersei and Joffrey. Everything is starting to be set up.**

 **There should be more Jon/Sansa/Robb etc. next chapter. I'm sorry for not including them as much as I should.**

 **Thank you so much for staying by me with this wait. I know how hard it can be. Reviews and PM's are very welcome, I appreciate your input massively. You guys drive me forward.**

 _ **Next chapter hint:**_ **Happiness turns to grief, and a now broken family divides itself more, as leaving becomes a bitter pill to swallow.**

 **Love you all.**

bobberoo98.


	5. Chapter 5 - A Bittersweet Symphony

**A/N: Guys, thank you so much, seriously. At least 50 favs and follows each, and just over 2,500 views on the story. I am so grateful to the support you are showing, just by simply reading what I am writing. It helps me so much, and I am so happy because of it.**

 **I'm going to be doing this little answer section for reviews just before I start chapters, so that people can know what issues and questions there are for the story. I have two reviews which need to be answered, so let's get on with that before chapter 5 commences.**

 _CunningSlytherin_ **: I agree, King's Landing is a "rat's nest", as Ned Stark put it, so he would have to be more careful. However, since Edward is still quite ignorant about the 'Game', despite a knack for feigning emotions or lack of, it might spell danger. As for the other part about relationship dynamic, you're in luck. This chapter will mainly focus on the views of some of the Stark children in the wake of the incident, so read on. Thank you for the compliment, it means a lot. :)**

 _Guest (Wish you had a name)_ **: Very good question. I have to admit, that hasn't popped into my mind yet, but it is a very intriguing concept. I will hold on to that idea, as it is very possible for others to be involved with Edward. It probably won't happen, at least not for a long while, but it is interesting to think of, so be on the lookout. Thank you for the question :)**

 _GIANTPANDAMAN_ **: Thank you very much. In response to the inquiry about the book, I will definitely add that to my Christmas wishlist as I have seen extracts of the illustrations and they are very impressive.**

 **Thanks to all of you for the reviews, I would love for there to be more in the future. I'm also so, so sorry for this being later than usual, a lot has been going on, so I hope you guys can forgive me. I will be trying my hardest to keep to a schedule with the chapters.**

 **As mentioned, this chapter involves more of the Starks, and a little less of Edward. I still hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 _Chapter 5 - A Bittersweet Symphony_

She sat there on her bed. Her hands were shaking, and she couldn't stop them. Her hair was a mess, with individual hairs sticking out from the overall wash of red. Streaks on her face where tears had fallen accompanied with bloodshot eyes and tiredness. All she wanted to do was sleep, yet she dare not close her eyes. Every time she shut her blue eyes, there he was. Lying there, unmoving, his back broken.

Sansa felt the familiar feeling of tears again. She felt so helpless and stupid, not being able to help her brother. All she could do was weep for him, and that definitely wouldn't wake him up.

It had been a good few hours since Bran had been brought into the castle, with Edward carrying him, Father and herself accompanying him, all in shock at what had happened. The moon was high in the sky, night time casting itself over Winterfell, and Sansa couldn't be less ready to sleep. All she could think about was Bran, and how close he was, _is_ , to death.

Maester Luwin had said that if he is to survive, he would have to get through the night and the coming day ahead. She remembered his haunting words.

" _His chances are slim. If he does survive, he will never walk again."_

Shuddering despite the lack of cold, the eldest Stark daughter decided that if she wasn't going to sleep, she might as well take yet another trip to the Godswood.

 _Whilst crying may not help him, praying to the Gods might._

Although in her night gown, Sansa put on some shoes and her wolf pelt cloak, and snuck her way outside into the courtyard and headed towards the Godswood.

The skies were clear, allowing for all the stars and the moon to be seen easily, casting a faint white glow on the land. Sansa, whilst walking across the courtyard, clutching her cloak close to her slim body, vaguely wondered whether Edward was awake.

She had half a mind to go and see him, but she rejected the thought, thinking that she would disturb the young Cassel if he was sleeping. Besides, he would need the sleep. The long journey to King's Landing would begin tomorrow.

After a while of slowly walking through darkness, she found herself on the path that led to the Godswood.

Amongst all the fear and worry for Bran, Sansa still held a small feeling of excitement inside. She would be going with Arya and Father to King's Landing, as Joffrey's betrothed. The thought of marrying the Crown Prince, with his gorgeous blonde hair and soft eyes, in the famous Sept of Baelor, in front of hundreds of smiling faces, couldn't stop a smile coming to her lips.

Although, the excitement had almost become bittersweet, considering that she wouldn't be able to see Bran awake, at least not for a long while.

After a few more minutes of walking, Sansa found herself in the clearing that contained the weirwood tree, and the large pond next to it. The tree was huge, its trunk and branches being a grey-white, and its leaves being a blood red. Truly, it was a beautiful sight, with the Old Gods' face carved into it adding a slight sense of being watched by them.

However, as the eldest Stark daughter knelt down and began praying to the Gods for Bran's well being, she noticed she wasn't alone.

"Praying again, princess?"

Sansa snapped her head to her left to identify the man that had just surprised her.

"What are you doing here, Robb? You don't pray very often."

The auburn-brown haired heir to Winterfell smiled, as he sat down next to Sansa.

"Aye, I don't that much, but I think the circumstances call for it."

Sansa gave a sad curl of her lips as again she thought of her little brother, fighting for his life.

Robb cocked his head in interest.

"Aren't you supposed to be sleeping? You leave for the capital tomorrow, I'm sure the Queen won't like it if you're tired when in her presence."

Sansa went from kneeling into a sitting position, her head down as if weighing on her thoughts.

Robb noticed this immediately. With these two being the oldest of the Stark children, they knew each other far better than their other siblings, but not by much.

"Tell me, princess, I'm not Father or Mother." he encouraged, a smile growing on his features.

Robb had always called Sansa by that title, a nickname he gave her due to her elegance and beauty, not to mention the fact that she was sometimes a spoilt brat.

Well, most of the time, to be honest with himself. But he wouldn't tell Sansa that, not even under pain of death.

Sansa spoke up, her face slightly paler than usual, though Robb attributed that to the cold. When she spoke, however, her voice was weaker, which sounded fearful.

"I can't sleep. I can't stop thinking about when he was there, lying on the ground. If Edward wasn't there…."

Sansa shivered, although it wasn't the cold that caused it. She felt tears springing in her sky-blue eyes, before strong arms wrapped around her in a brotherly embrace.

Robb gave Sansa a tight hug, hoping that would ease her pain, before speaking.

"It's alright, little one. Don't think about that. It didn't happen, Edward was there, thank the Gods, and Maester Luwin says that Bran has survived the worst."

His words managed to allay Sansa's fears slightly, but not as much as he hoped. She was still staring out emptily upon the pond next to the weirwood tree.

Trying to lighten things up slightly, Robb spoke up again, giving his sister a small squeeze with his arms.

"Hey, I'm sure you'll be excited about going to King's Landing, it'll be just like the fairy tales and the stories. You'll become Queen when you marry the Prince and he becomes King, aren't you excited about that?"

Sansa gave a tiny grin at the prospect. _Queen._

"I am, I can't wait to go, but…."

She hesitated, something was clearly weighing on her mind.

Robb, not wanting his sister to be upset any longer, pressed her.

"What is it, Sansa?"

The redheaded Stark looked up at her older brother, her face contorted with worry, before she managed to get the words out.

"Do you hate Joffrey?"

Robb almost flinched in surprise at the bluntness and seriousness of his sister's question. He could see the worry and stress in her eyes, probing for an honest answer.

Truthfully, Robb didn't particularly like the Prince. He was cowardly and arrogant and spoilt, and deep down he didn't feel like he was right for Sansa. No-one would be good enough for his perfect sister.

 _Well, perhaps one…._

Robb, being himself, had half a mind to tell Sansa about Edward, and his feelings for her. The young Cassel was honourable, smart, kind, and always had a good chemistry and friendship with the red-haired Stark. Not to mention that he was fairly good-looking. If it were up to him, he would go against the King's wishes to combine Houses Baratheon and Stark. But it wasn't up to him.

He refrained from revealing Edward's secret, knowing he would anger his closest friend and would fail to persuade Sansa of anyone other than Joffrey.

Going back to the question at hand, which he really didn't want to answer, partially because he didn't want to lie to Sansa about liking Joffrey and partially because he didn't want to hurt her feelings with the truth.

Deciding to respond with a question of his own, Robb spoke, his face semi-serious, semi-concerned.

"Why do you ask me that, Sansa?"

Sansa looked away in slight embarrassment, her porcelain-coloured cheeks going a shade of red.

"It's just that….. Well I keep hearing from Theon an-"

"Forget about Theon, he's always like that."

Robb interrupted Sansa with a scoff of dismissal about the Ironborn heir. Despite being alright to hang around with, Robb never took Theon seriously with his opinions of others, since he was bitter towards most people.

However, Sansa gave Robb an irritated glare at interrupting her.

"It's not just Theon," she exclaimed, sadness tinging her soft light tones.

As soon as she said that, Robb knew exactly who else had spoken ill of the Prince.

 _Damn it, Ed. Good luck getting on her good side now._

Robb inwardly cringed at the question he would have to ask.

"Who else, sister?"

"E-Edward."

When Sansa looked up at Robb, the look of sheer betrayal in her eyes made him flinch. It was clear to him in that moment that despite being utterly infatuated with her betrothed, it was Edward Cassel whom Sansa almost looked up to in a way, besides himself of course, and also that he was someone who was a very close friend to her.

He had always known of the chemistry the two shared, the whole castle did, confirmed even more by Edward's embarrassed confession of feelings about her to him two days ago. However, the heir to Winterfell didn't know of his sister's feelings, although considering her relationship status, it was almost irrelevant. Besides, she had always seemed the lesser interested of the two, but not in a way that diminished her and Edward's friendship.

Now, it dawned on Robb that Sansa clearly felt similarly close to Edward, and was equally hurt by his careless words of her Prince, judging by the silent tears falling down the redhead's cheeks.

 _His words mean a lot to her._

Again pulling Sansa into a tight hug, and trying to comfort her by rubbing her back in circles, Robb rested his head on top of his sister's head, wearing a blank expression that barely masked the anger in his eyes at Sansa being upset.

He would have to bring about some brotherly justice.

"Go and get some sleep, princess. I'll sort out Edward. Go get some sleep."

* * *

Ned sat at his desk, his weary head in his hands.

Despite having completed all the necessary writing work so that Robb wouldn't have too much trouble when he took the role as Lord of Winterfell, the new Hand of the King was exhausted, physically and mentally. His son was now a cripple, destined never to walk again, whilst he would have to leave him and his wife to go hundreds of leagues south to the capital.

Although the knowledge that his daughters and most trusted men would accompany him, Ned only felt that his family would divide further, what with Jon going to the Wall, and that he was leading his men into untold danger. He would have to brief Jory, and possibly Edward, on his fear, since Jory was his Captain, and Edward was the youngest ever guard-at-arms. He didn't want Edward to be disillusioned about his task and safety.

Poor Bran. He always wanted to become a member and possible Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Now he never would.

Suddenly, shuffling footsteps sounded from outside his door.

Normally Ned would have thought nothing of it, but these steps were light, small. A child's, and ones that didn't seek to disturb or awaken.

Quickly opening his study's door, Ned peered down the hallway to find Arya, wrapped in her small cloak, with her hair down and in its semi-permanent messy state. She snapped her head to the source of the sound, and upon seeing her father, gave a sheepish grin that showed almost no apology. Arya never really apologised for much anyway, unless it was serious.

Gods, did she remind him of Lyanna.

"Arya, what are you doing up at this hour?" Ned questioned, as he walked over and kneeled down to his daughter's height.

Arya gave a pleading look.

"I couldn't sleep. And I wanted to visit Bran."

Ned gave a small smile at her explanation. True, it was hard to sleep, he imagined, for the entire family. But what caused the ghost of a grin was his knowledge that, after Jon, Arya was always very close and protective of Bran. Despite being born only a year apart, Arya constantly took on the role of big sister for Bran, always defending him and caring for him, much like the dynamic between Robb and Sansa, and Jon and herself. It warmed his heart.

"C'mon. Let's go and visit him."

After walking through the stone hallways of the castle, they came upon Bran's room.

Walking in, there he was. One would think he was simply sleeping, judging by how peaceful he looked, his boyish round face showing no pain whatsoever. But he wasn't sleeping, not truly in the sense of the word.

A roaring fire blazed in the hearth, illuminating the room and giving it much needed warmth. Sitting next to the bed in which Bran was lying, was Catelyn. Ned almost flinched in surprise. It looked as if she hadn't moved since yesterday evening. Her auburn red hair was a mess, much like Arya's, only more, and dark bags under her eyes told Ned that she hadn't slept a wink. She sat there, stroking Bran's hand and holding it as if he would vanish the moment she let go.

Catelyn snapped her head to look upon the entrants to the room, before turning her gaze back to the motionless Bran. Arya went up to the opposite side of the bed, trying her best to stop her eyes from watering with sadness at the sight of her brother.

"He'll be alright, won't he father?" Arya questioned, hope evident in her voice.

Ned gave a brief glance at his wife and his injured son, before looking into Arya's brown eyes.

"Aye, Maester Luwin says his wounds are no longer fatal. But he may never walk again when he wakes up."

The bittersweet news shocked Arya slightly. Whilst she was immensely relieved that Bran was likely to survive, the knowledge that he would no longer be able to use his legs felt like her heart was being crushed. She enjoyed seeing Bran climb about the castle walls, and sometimes joined in. The adventures she loved having would no longer be the same without him. Not to mention future adventures would not happen inside Winterfell, but King's Landing. It wouldn't be the same.

A small, but visible tear slid down her right cheek, one that Arya furiously wiped away with the sleeve of her night gown. She hated crying, it made her look like a weak little lady. And she was no Lady. Regardless, she allowed a second tear to follow down the trail of the first without interruption.

 _Family is worth crying over._

As she stood there, staring at Bran's face, silent tears escaping her eyes, she felt the familiar embrace of her father as he wrapped her in his arms.

"It's alright, love. Your brother is going to be fine. We'll see him again before you know it."

Arya held onto her father's embrace, hoping desperately that his words would be true. Yet, somewhere in the young Stark's mind, she doubted it heavily that they would see Bran again for a long while.

* * *

THWACK.

THWACK.

THWACK-THWACK-THWACK.

Steel sword met tied straw again and again, each swiped hit connecting with the head and body of the practice dummy and sending little parts of straw to the ground.

The way in which Edward was attacking the dummy with his sword could only be described as insane, or furious. Barely letting up to take breaths, he continued swiping and thrusting and jabbing until his arms screamed with exhaustion for him to stop, which he did, drawing in heavy breaths that could clearly be seen due to the mist exhaled from his mouth.

It was a cold night, the skies almost clear, with stars peeking through enough to be seen. The moon was almost full, casting a white glow upon the training courtyard. There was barely any wind or breeze, which made the cold bearable, yet it could still be felt in the air enough to warrant wearing a cloak.

Edward, however, couldn't feel a bit of the low temperature. In fact, he was boiling, due to the exertion of practicing his swordplay. He was wearing simply his undershirt, which was unlaced at the collar and chest since he figured a doublet wouldn't be quite practical and his leather Stark guard armour would take too long to put on and take off, even if it would provide him with warmth.

Besides, he did have his wolf pelt cloak hanging nearby if he did get cold.

There was nobody around, at least in the training yard where he was, so it meant he could train alone, and with the residency wing of the castle on the opposite side to the training yard and armoury, he wouldn't be disturbing anyone.

Gods forbid if he woke up the King or Queen.

Just thinking of Queen Cersei sent shivers down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold air, which was kissing at the sweat lining the back of his neck and forehead, which had caused some strands of his unruly hair to stick to his forehead.

Gods, did that woman frighten him. He would never admit it to anyone, but it was the truth. He thought back to meeting her in person with the Prince. Joffrey he could stand (or not stand, depending on the aspect of him that Edward was thinking of) but those deadly, venomous green eyes were just that. Like a lion eyeing its prey, its lunch.

 _How fitting and original. A lion used to describe a Lannister. Well done, Edward._

Visibly shaking his head to try and rid his mind of the danger of the Queen, Edward instead focused on the straw dummy again, envisioning it as the Crown Prince himself. The sneering, cowardly, pathetic Prince Joffrey.

He knew he should be feeling bad for wishing harm on another person, let alone the Prince and heir to the Iron Throne.

 _And the one who took my Sansa._

That thought sparked a small sense of confusion inside the young Cassel, who was now gripping his sword tightly, so much so that the whites of his knuckles were showing. His brows furrowed, the emotion showing on his features.

Why was he being like this? Why was he being so, so….

Possessive? Obsessed?

Sansa wasn't his. Sansa was never his. Sansa is not his betrothed. To a cowardly little prick, but a Prince nonetheless. A title that he did not have. He didn't even _have_ a title.

So why was he being like this?

In Edward's mind, a thought answered his question. But it was a thought, a feeling, that felt wrong and uncomfortable, yet addictive and so so _right_.

 _Stop it. Stop that feeling. You have a job now. No more moping on a decision that was out of your control._

A decision that he would never have control of, ever.

Another thought entered his mind, one that was necessary to be thought of, but Edward dare not say it. He dare not _think_ it.

 _Go on, say it. Not saying it isn't going to make it less true_.

His conscious was right. Perhaps it needed to be said. But first, think it, then say it. Speak the thought and it would be over.

Taking an unusually shaky breath, Edward allowed the thought to take centre-stage in his mind.

 _I can't have Sans-_

Physically stopping himself from thinking it, Edward knew he had to.

 _Wow, even your own body doesn't want you to believe it. Say it. Say it._

Mentally preparing himself again, Edward closed his eyes, and willed himself to think the words that would give him the necessary closure to move on from his jealousy.

 _I. Can't. Have. Sansa. Stark._

 _Good, now say it._

It couldn't be that hard, right?

Edward felt so stupid. He was warring with his own mind about whether to speak some words that would mean nothing to the issue that it was about, yet they were so important, _crucial_.

When he speaks the words, the Gods will acknowledge it and he will be able to move on from the stupid crush he's had for Gods-knows-how-long.

His grip on his sword so tight that it was beginning to hurt, Edward grit his teeth to prepare. After what felt like an eternity, he spoke.

"I-"

It felt like a lump of snow in his throat, words that would never get out, yet they needed to. Forcing himself to swallow, Edward tried again.

"I ca-"

Why was this so hard?

Why, how, was this so difficult?

 _This is nothing! It's just some stupid obsession over a girl, a Lady, someone who would never even look at me in that way! Why is it so hard to get rid of?!_

His mind driving him crazy, instead of uttering the words that he felt compelled and disgusted to say, Edward replicated Joffrey's attempt at swordplay yesterday. He swung wildly with his sword, all lessons temporarily abandoned, not caring where it hit, not caring that the moonlit steel could injure himself if too reckless, the straw flying off the dummy upon every slash and thrust and chop.

This continued for a while, until Edward realising that he was releasing heavy, angry, grunts along with his attacks. He stopped, feeling the toll of his outrage on his muscles. His arms burning with slight fatigue, he leant his sword against the dummy, breaths coming hard and heavy.

"By the Gods, if Robb saw you fighting like that, you wouldn't hear the end of it!"

Snapping his head to the source of the voice, Edward suddenly felt very embarrassed. He just had a tantrum, like a petulant child, over a petty thing like an interest in a girl, and Jon Snow had seen it.

His cheeks turning red, but not from the chill in the air, Edward tried to make an excuse.

"I- I was just-"

Jon smiled as he walked towards him, his white teeth showing, with his long, curly black locks bouncing slightly as he did so.

"I understand, brother. I have moments like that too."

Edward sighed in relief. _At least he doesn't know why._

As Jon came to stand a few feet from the Cassel, his genuine smile turned into a teasing grin as his gaze shifted within a split second from Edward, to the nearly obliterated straw dummy, and back to Edward.

"Although, any straw men should watch out when you're angry."

Edward laughed and made to punch Jon in the arm for his mocking comment, but the Snow was too quick, and dodged under Edward's swing with ease, before returning to a relaxed gait, as if nothing had happened.

Jon took Edward's steel sword that had been resting against the dummy, and held it in front of his face, as if he was inspecting it.

"Using live steel now, brother?" Jon questioned.

Edward nodded, past embarrassment forgotten.

"Aye, Jory told me that I should be prepared to use it. Kings Landing can be quite dangerous I hear."

"Well, I'm sure Lord Stark will be as safe as can be with you protecting him. Just, don't fight like that when it comes to it."

Edward scoffed.

"Ha-ha, very funny."

A small, comfortable silence passed between the two, before Edward took his sword from Jon's hands.

"I take it you'll be using proper steel when you're at the Wall?"

Edward felt a slight pang of sadness at the thought of Jon leaving for the Night's Watch in the morning. A thousand leagues apart they would be.

Jon responded, the same sadness evident in his voice.

"Aye. I'll be using it to protect all of you lot in the capital."

Edward smiled heavily.

"You'll be a great ranger, Jon. Perhaps a great leader, someday."

Jon smiled back with equal intensity.

"And you'll do Lord Stark proud. You'll be Captain, soon enough."

Edward beamed at the comment.

"Although I'm not sure Arya will want protecting. She can handle herself. All she needs is a sword of her own, and she's set."

Jon suddenly had a great idea spawn in his head.

"I'll have one made for her in the morning. My leaving present for her."

" _Our_ leaving present. It'll help her when I'm training her."

"Of course." Jon agreed with a smile.

Eventually Edward spoke with an intensity and genuity that caught Jon off guard.

"I'm going to miss you, brother."

Tears would have sprang in the Snow's eyes, had he not immediately rushed up to Edward and given him a bear hug, which the Cassel returned with eagerness. Jon responded, his voice abnormally shaky and cracked with emotion.

"I'll miss you too, brother."

* * *

The next morning was busy, to say the least. After a small early breakfast and a quick visit to see Bran, Edward headed back to his room to pack his clothes and any other possessions he had, which wasn't much. Managing to fit everything inside a small suitcase, he was about to head down to the barracks to go and sharpen and clean his sword and leather armour, he was greeted by a harsh knocking on his door.

Expecting it to be Jory or his father, Edward eagerly opened it, a smile on his face.

What greeted him was a look of pure murder on Robb Stark's face.

"Morning, Robb. Did Grey Wind keep you up last night?" Edward asked, his smile fading from his features.

Robb answered coldly.

"Nope, I've just came to tell you that Sansa's in her room, and you should head there now."

Feeling slightly worried that he had done something wrong, Edward asked what was possibly the stupidest question ever.

"Why's that?"

Robb's eyes lit up with anger.

"Because you upset her, greatly, and she's expecting you to go and apologise immediately, or this crush you have on her will _definitely never_ be reciprocated. Understand?"

Despite the self-argument he had last night, Edward knew that his attraction for Sansa would never fully go away and that saddened him. The prospect of throwing away his friendship and _any_ chance of being hers, along with earning the wrath of the acting Lord of Winterfell would sadden him _much more_.

Almost breaking into a sprint through the Winterfell castle halls, the young Cassel came upon Sansa's room in record time. Nervously checking his hair by running a hand through it, he knocked and waited.

"Come in!" Sansa's sweet voice echoed from inside.

Edward slowly entered, hoping he hadn't disturbed.

"It's me, my Lady."

Sansa immediately stopped packing her suitcases and stood at her full height. She was wearing a simple blue-grey dress, with her hair completely down and flowing, as was the typical Northern style.

Edward found himself staring, and quickly roused himself from the trance, although he couldn't help but notice how red Sansa's eyes were, nor could he ignore the bags under them either.

Summoning up his courage, the Cassel spoke.

"I believe I owe you an apology, my Lady. I spoke of your betrothed in a completely disrespectful manner, and in doing so I not only insulted the Prince but I hurt your feelings, and for that I'm sorry."

Sansa just looked at Edward coolly, her face showing slight anger, but mostly sadness and…..

Betrayal.

"I accept your apology, Edward. But I want to ask you something."

"Yes?"

Sansa hesitated, her cerulean blue eyes gazing at the floor, before returning to Edward's face.

"Do you honestly hate Joffrey?"

It was Edward's turn to gaze down at the floor, thinking of the answer he should give.

The truth? He despised the Prince. He was cowardly, arrogant, and didn't deserve Sansa.

He couldn't lie to her, that would just make things worse, and lose her trust, and possibly, their bond and friendship.

Mentally bracing himself, Edward answered, lifting his gaze to meet with Sansa's, his jaw set with conviction.

"I don't like him, if that's what you're looking for."

Sansa didn't look surprised, but what affected Edward the most was the look of hurt in her blue eyes, which were starting to water with tears.

"Why? Joffrey is a good person."

"Not from my point of view. He barely knows how to swing a sword, yet he brags as if he were Ser Arthur Dayne!"

Sansa recoiled slightly, hurt anger taking over her features, tears threatening to spill.

"Joffrey is not like that! He is good and handsome, and as brave as a lion!"

Edward scoffed, anger beginning to surface in his voice too.

"He's as brave as a mouse! If you'd seen him in the training yard yesterday, then you'd know how much of a snivelling little coward he is!"

Sansa's voice rose in volume.

"Joffrey is not a coward! He is a gallant Prince and I love him and I will be proud to marry him!"

Those words temporarily took Edward off guard. _I love him._ He never expected those words to sting so badly.

"He is a stupid, arrogant little child, and I don't think he is right for you."

It was Sansa's turn to scoff.

"You think you know what is best for me? I think you are jealous of him."

"JEALO- Jealous? Apart from title, there is nothing about him as a person that I envy. You've barely known him for a few days, and yet you worship the ground he walks on! He is not the 'gallant' Prince you think he is!"

"Well you should be jealous, because he is better than you! You're just a stupid boy who is only allowed to be here because our fathers are friends! Joffrey is going to be the best King ever and I'm going to be his Queen!"

That insult hit a nerve. Edward's right eye twitched. He was trying so desperately to keep his anger issues under control, but the urge to retaliate was too strong. He wouldn't back down to a _girl_.

"And you, _my Lady_ , are just a spoilt brat who believes that the world is all sunshine and chivalry! You think that becoming Queen is the most important thing in life! Well, I've got news for you, Sansa," the way in which Edward _snarled_ her name sent a chill down the Stark girl's spine, "your beloved Prince is nothing more than a big-headed, arrogant, snivelling, cowardly idiot, and you are just a stupid, naive, silly little girl who is too small-minded to see otherwise, too caught up in her fairytales to see that there are others who would be more worthy of your affections!"

* * *

As soon as he finished his rant, Edward knew he had just done two things. One, he had just directly insulted the Prince, and the girl he wanted. Two, he had accidentally let slip, albeit loosely, his feelings for her. He hoped that she didn't notice, which was luckily confirmed by her reaction.

Staring, almost in shock, at Sansa, he watched as she covered her mouth with her hand, trying to hide the sobs that escaped her mouth as a stream of tears ran down her porcelain cheeks, desperately closing her eyes in an attempt to stop the waterworks, to no avail.

Before he knew it, Edward was running through the corridors, and out into the courtyard, which was a bustle of activity. He barely even noticed what seemed like Tyrion Lannister slapping Joffrey in the face. Twice, no three times. Normally he would have watched that with great interest, but all he could think about was the image of Sansa crying heavily, sobs wracking her slender frame, burning itself into his memory.

He didn't even realise he had stepped into the armoury, until the sight of his sword and leather armour came into view.

Trying desperately to wipe the image from his mind and focus of cleaning and preparing his stuff, Edward spent the next hour or so vigorously polishing and sharpening his sword until it was like a mirror. After putting it in his sheath on his belt, he then put on his boiled leather guard armour, and put his sword belt on, allowing the sheathed weapon to hang at his left side.

Soon after composing himself, Edward stepped into the courtyard, which was now full of horses and carts, nearly ready to set off for the capital. He could see Lord Stark preparing his horse, and Jory and his father embracing briefly, whilst on the other side of the courtyard he could see Robb walking over to see Jon off.

Thank the Gods Sansa wasn't around.

Deciding to see his family first, he walked over to his cousin and father.

"I take it we're leaving now, then."

Jory nodded. "Aye."

Edward turned to his father, who wore a small smile, but he knew that smile was a very proud one. Ser Rodrick gave Edward a big hug, before stepping back and addressing him.

"Son, I know that life hasn't been good on you, with your mother and everything. I know I haven't always been there to help you. But you are turning into a great young man, and I couldn't ask for a better son. I know your mother would be proud of you."

It was so, so rare for his father to speak of his mother, much less to himself. But his father's words caused Edward's insides to warm with emotion and gratitude.

"Thank you so much Father. I will try and do you proud in King's Landing, for our family, and our House."

"I know you will, Edward. I'll be looking forward to your return. Maybe you could save your father a good little spar when you get back."

Edward beamed a great smile.

"First thing, Father."

After embracing him again, Edward went to prepare his horse, but not before coming across Robb and Jon.

"Well, this is it."

Jon spoke first.

"First chance I get, I'll try and come down to King's Landing, I promise."

Edward laughed, putting a hand on Jon's shoulder.

"You'll look good in black, brother. It's your colour, after all."

Giving him an embrace that matched the one they shared the previous night, Edward turned to Robb.

"I spoke to her. She's not taken it well."

Robb nodded.

"She'll come around."

"Try not to burn the place down, my Lord."

Robb smiled, his teeth showing.

"I'll try. Farewell, Cassel."

Robb had his hand outstretched, but Edward bypassed it and gave him a hug like the one with Jon.

"Until the next time, Lord Stark."

* * *

The bright morning sun shining through the low, misty clouds, as the Royal convoy started their way down the Kingsroad, Edward waited behind at the junction that split in three. Behind him was the road down to Winterfell, with the south Kingsroad to his left, and the one leading further north, to the Wall, was on his right.

Edward sat on his horse, breathing in the fresh, cold air that had always soothed him, gazing at Lord Stark and Jon Snow conversing a few feet away. He didn't want to intrude, so he kept a respectful distance away, watching the two as they spoke. Jon wore his brooding face as normal, yet looked slightly confused, almost defeated about something.

* * *

"Is my mother alive? Does she know about me, where I am, where I'm going? Did she care?"

Jon watched as his father gave a slightly pained expression to the ground before answering Jon's questions, hidden hurt in his voice, yet promised hope in his eyes.

"The next time we see each other, we'll talk about your mother."

Giving a small smile and a grunt of persuasion, Ned spoke the same two words that he did all those years ago. "I promise."

Jon gave a small nod in reluctant agreement. It would be a while before they see each other again, but it would be worth it in the end.

With that, Ned set off in the direction of the convoy.

* * *

Edward saw Lord Stark spurring his horse to catch up to the convoy, and made to follow, but he turned his gaze to the sight of the great fortress of Winterfell, committing it to memory. It would be a long time before he saw the place again.

Edward's gaze went from Winterfell in the distance to Jon, who was still sitting on his horse. Catching his line of sight, Edward gave a smile and a nod. Jon only nodded in response, the subject of his talk with his father probably still on his mind, before setting off north to join up with Benjen Stark and Tyrion Lannister on his way to join the ancient order of the Night's Watch.

As Edward's hazel eyes followed Jon, he spoke two words that he knew no-one would hear, yet hoped that Jon would.

"Goodbye, brother."

As he caught up to the convoy and Lord Stark, Edward felt a buzz of excitement at the journey ahead. Yet, with all that had happened, with Bran and Sansa, and the Stark family physically divided by duty and honour, Edward Cassel could only feel a very bittersweet feeling inside.

* * *

 **Just over 6,500 words. Woo!**

 **I can't apologise enough for this chapter taking so long, guys. A LOT of stuff has happened between then and now, and it's interfered with this chapter being written.**

 **Anyway, I hope you guys have enjoyed this chapter. Whilst Edward did come in towards the end, I hope you liked the interactions between other characters.**

 **Reviews, positive and negative alike, are always welcome.**

 **The story is now moving on. Winterfell won't be seen for a good while, as King's Landing is coming up soon.**

 **Do let me know what you thought of the two scenes where Edward had a mind war with himself, and then a verbal war with Sansa. I'm worried that I didn't do them right, or that they didn't fit or something. If you did or didn't like it, tell me, I want to know what you guys think.**

 **If you guys are confused by the title of this chapter, go on Youtube and search for the 9/10 minute long video "Stark Theme", or the 5 minute "Winterfell theme extended". As an obsessed and dedicated watcher of Game of Thrones, I have always felt like the Stark theme with the violins and everything is very bittersweet, when it is not being heartbreakingly beautiful. It shows how great and prestigious the Starks are, but it highlights the sadness and tragedy of the family being split apart and having horrible things happen to them. I really wanted that theme to be clear in this chapter, with everything being so bittersweet and sad, due to the Starks being separated. The title of "** _ **A Bittersweet Symphony"**_ **is a direct mention and homage to the Stark theme, listening to it whilst reading this chapter might help to set the mood and atmosphere.**

 _ **Next chapter hint**_ **: Home is behind, the world ahead, and there is one Kingsroad to tread. Tragedy and controversy visits the Wolves, as the Lion bears their teeth.**

 **Love you all,**

 _bobberoo98._


	6. Chapter 6 - A Gentle, Good Lady

**A/N: Hey guys, hope you are all doing great, and we are back with the next chapter of A Destiny of Ice and Steel!**

 **After finishing and posting chapter 5 (finally), I got some really nice reviews that really helped motivate me to get this chapter out quicker, so as a thank you (and sorry for making you wait so long for the last chapter) for the kind words, here's chapter 6 early! This is by far the longest chapter I've done (for now), it's basically double the normal word count, so read it in one sitting at your own risk! :)**

 **Anyway, on with the review section.**

 _CunningSlytherin_ **: Thank you for your awesome review, I hope to see more in the future! In response, you are very right, Sansa and Edward are both young and naive, and their relationship will have many ups and downs, perhaps some of the hardships they face will bond them together, like you said. Thank you for the praise about the argument scene, it was very tough to do. We are going to be seeing King's Landing very soon, so I'm glad you're excited to see how our characters do there. Thank you so much for the review.**

 _RevanKnight25_ **: It is very tempting to do, but we shall see how Edward's actions affect events, as it depends on the severity of them to change things (ripple effect). We shall see. Thank you a lot for the review.**

 _Guest_ **: Thank you, I appreciate your view on the argument scene, I can see where you're coming from, and I will try to rectify the dynamic as the story progresses, but I'm very glad that you're excited for more. Thanks a lot for the review.**

 _Guest_ **: A-ha! It's good to hear from such a shipper, I have read many fics with those two together, and it's strangely, but very, satisfying. Your ship is definitely welcome with me! Thank you so much for your words, they mean so much to me. I'm so happy you enjoy the story and Edward's dynamic with the Starks, I see him as very much like Jon - separated by blood (mostly), but very attached through friendship and bond. Hopefully you'll find it interesting when all the turmoil starts happening! I hope I can keep this story refreshing to you for as long as possible, I want this to be unique. Thank you so much for your review, I only wish I could know your profile name (if you have one). I hope you this chapter!**

 **Now on with the new chapter!**

* * *

 _Chapter 6 - A Gentle, Good Lady_

It was raining. Again.

In the past 6 days since they had left Winterfell, save for the day they left, it had been raining in one way or another. At the Neck, it was heavy drizzle. Just past the Twins, it was normal rain. And now, approaching the combining of the three rivers into the centre of the Trident river, it was heavy rain, with fat drops that soaked into his very bones, or at least it felt like it.

The rain symbolised Edward's mood. Damp, sullen, angry. For one, he couldn't feel his pillar and stones after Gods-knows how many hours of riding per day. Two, whilst his armour was simply hard boiled studded leather, as was the attire for every Stark guardsman, the lack of sleep from the wind and rain caused the armour suit to feel so heavy on his shoulders. But thirdly, the most important reason, was the redheaded Stark that he saw every day.

Ever since the outburst and argument with Sansa, Edward dared not go near her. Although he had tried many times to gather up courage to go and apologise, he stayed away, his stubbornness trying to replicate the apathetic nature she was showing him as a front for the guilt he felt. Partially because he was angry with himself, partially because he was angry at Sansa for being blind to see the truth, partially because he feared she had told Joffrey and the Queen of his insults. Although, part of him reasoned that if that had happened, the Hound would slit his throat in the night.

Subconsciously covering his throat with his hand, to make sure no wound was there, Edward noticed that it had _finally_ stopped raining. Running a hand through his soaked but still wild and messy hair, he was glad he had it cut. If he still had thick locks like Jon did, he would look like a wet dog.

He hoped Jon was alright. It was barely a week and he missed his blood brother. Of course, they weren't related by blood, but to him the term meant being bound by loyalty to each other. That's what Jon was to him. A blood brother.

A huge cry of "Halt!" snapped Edward from his musings, noticing that the convoy had come upon a big inn at a crossroads, near Castle Darry. Relieved at the chance to stretch his legs (and regain feeling in his nether region), Edward climbed off his steed, and allowed it to be led away to rest and eat.

Walking through the growing mass of people as they unloaded and got off horses and carts, and doing the new-found habit of clutching and fidgeting with the pommel and hilt of his sword, the young Cassel tried to spot either his cousin Jory or Lord Stark. He saw the former tending to his horse, so he made his way towards him.

Upon spotting his young cousin, Jory smiled as Edward came to stop in front of him.

"You look good in the guard armour. Although I must warn you, it hurts your shoulders for a while when you first start wearing it."

Edward responded by rolling his shoulders whilst his face expressed uncomfortable pain, which elicited a laugh from Jory. "I thought you'd be feeling it."

"Is it supposed to hurt this much, Jory?"

"It's Captain Jory to you, especially whilst we're around the Lannisters. And yes, but you'll get over it, you're young, your shoulders will strengthen."

Edward nodded in acceptance, before looking around him. Stark and Lannister and Baratheon banners were accompanying tents already being set up outside the main buildings, waving proudly in the breeze.

Edward, his hand instinctively resting on the pommel of his sword, spoke up.

"Where is Lord Stark? Shouldn't we be reporting to him?"

Jory nodded.

"Aye, but he is discussing camping arrangements with the rest of the guard, and then he will speak to the King, before seeing us separately."

Edward was slightly confused.

"Why is he speaking to the rest of the guard, when you and I should be there?"

Jory showed that smug smile that always served to annoy Edward, as it showed that Jory knew something that he didn't, which he hated. Before he could get a chance to question some more, Jory answered things for him.

"Because he has more important matters to discuss with his Captain and Vice Captain."

Edward did a double take. Vice Captain?

"Wait what? How am I suddenly your second-in-command? I'm only 16! I'm the youngest ever member of the Household Guar-"

Jory stopped his cousin's worrying by putting a gloved hand over Edward's mouth, which shut him up.

"Listen, cousin. You are right, you are the youngest guard in the history of Winterfell and the North, but neither me nor Lord Stark would have chosen you to be a guard at this age if we didn't think you were ready. If you want advice, go and talk to Ser Jaime Lannister. Joined the Kingsguard at 16, became their youngest ever member. And he is a very accomplished swordsman. Sounds like someone I know."

Edward knew Jory meant him. Taking his cousin's hand off his mouth, he responded.

"I'm nothing like the Kingslayer. I don't intend on breaking any oaths."

"So you do think you're good at swordfighting?"

Edward rolled his eyes.

"You know I'm good."

Jory chuckled. "Such arrogance, cousin. Perhaps we'll have to pit you against the Hound."

It was Edward's turn to chuckle, nervously.

"As if. He'd kill me instantly." This brought a smirk on Jory's face.

"Where's the 'I know I'm good' attitude gone? Besides, Ed, you have very quick footwork. You'd survive for longer than you think. If not, then at least you'd be able to run fast."

Edward's features darkened at the use of that _stupid_ nickname.

"I don't care if you're Captain or not, call me Ed one more time and I'll blacken your eye."

"Such disrespect to your authority! You need to keep your temper under control, lad."

The mention of his anger issues brought up an unwanted memory, one that was too fresh in his mind.

Luckily, Lord Stark appeared at the entrance to the stone built inn, which was quite big, by an inn's standards. Jory gestured for Edward to follow, but not before issuing some important advice as he slung his arm over Edward's shoulder.

"Words of wisdom, cousin, in case you get too scared about your position. To lead well, learn to follow well."

Edward nodded in acknowledgement. Useful words.

* * *

Ned led the two Cassels into the room in which he had just briefed his 30 or so guardsmen. He sat down at one of the tables in the room and beckoned for Jory and Edward to sit down too. Once they did so, sitting next to each other but opposite to their lord, Ned spoke his deep Northern tones echoing slightly in the large makeshift study.

"Jory, I assume you have told your new Vice Captain of his position."

"Yes my Lord."

"Good." Ned turned his head to face Edward, who was staring down at the table, deep in thought.

"Edward."

Immediately the Cassel snapped his head up to look at Ned.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Do you have any questions about your role?"

Edward hesitated. He didn't want to seem as if he didn't want the role, as it might look like a slight to Lord Stark. But he wanted to know some answers. Gulping to wetten his throat, Edward spoke.

"Why me, my Lord? There are others, more experienced than me."

Ned gave a small glance to Jory, before he responded.

"Your Captain and I felt that you are more than capable of the role. We felt that giving you a position close to your cousin would not only settle you in better, but also teach you skills and temperament so that one day, if anything were to happen to Jory, you would lead the Guard."

Edward sat backwards a bit to take it in. He felt Jory put a hand on his right shoulder.

"You might not know it, cousin, but you are suited for this more than you think. You have a natural ability to lead and a good decisiveness about you. You are loyal, which we won't find much of in the capital. When Lord Stark's son fell, you were the one who found him and saved his life, by being assertive and calm. You have the classic Northern temper, but when it comes to it, you step up."

Buoyed by his Lord and his Captain's words, Edward managed to give a small grin and a nod. Perhaps he could do it after all. Lord Stark seemed to believe in him. Perhaps he needed to believe.

With the issue sorted, Ned continued.

"Now, we are going to stop here for about a day or two, not including today. I've instructed your men, Captain," to which Jory gave a sharp nod and a comment of 'My men are yours, my Lord', "to set up the rest of the Stark tents around the back, where there is more protection from the wind and rain, if it comes. Captain, I want you to oversee the task, and intervene when necessary."

Another nod from Jory. "Yes my Lord. Right away."

As soon as he said it, Jory left the room to get to his orders. Diligent to a fault, Ned liked that about his Captain. He then stood and looked at Edward, who stood as well, a straight posture, hand on his sword hilt, before addressing him.

"Vice Captain Edward."

"Yes, my Lord." Edward gave a ghost of a grin. The title had a ring to it.

"Your job is to watch over Sansa and Arya, since I know how fond they are of you. Their tent is just down the track, behind the inn where all of our tents will be."

Edward's heart skipped a beat in fear. It wasn't the daunting boredom of standing outside a tent for hours with the possibility of rain. It was interacting with _her_. After all this time, despite the many attempts to apologise, Edward was scared to go near her. Yet, all he wanted to do was talk to her, and wrap his arms around her…..

Shaking the thoughts out of his mind, he nodded with a quick "Yes my Lord" and left to find the tent.

It wasn't too difficult, considering that all the Stark men were busy helping to put up supply and sleeping tents, and the one at the end was one of the biggest, with a direwolf sitting outside vigilantly. She was already the size of fully grown dogs, and big ones too.

 _Damn, they grow up quick._

Edward identified the wolf as Nymeria, Arya's pup.

Leaning down to give the friendly wolf (Almost all the direwolves showed a liking to Edward, since he constantly gave them attention) a scratch behind her ear, and receiving a lick on his hand as a sign of welcome, Edward peeked inside the tent.

Inside the spacious tent, with two beds either side of the area, with a large space in the middle that was lessened by the amount of suitcases, was Arya, jabbing at imaginary people with her new smallsword, Needle. Aptly named for being small and very thin, much like the owner, Jon had it crafted at Winterfell, before he left. It was meant as a present from both him and Edward, although the Cassel knew it meant more to Arya coming from Jon.

Fully entering the tent to make himself known, Arya didn't realise he had entered until she spun and thrusted Needle in his direction, narrowly coming short of making contact.

Quickly straightening and adopting a sheepish pose and face, with Needle hidden behind her back, Arya looked down at the floor in embarrassment, expecting to be admonished for being careless.

Instead, Edward smiled slightly and knelt down to her height.

"Not bad, but you need to be more spaciously aware. Enemies can come from all sides. We'll be working on that tomorrow."

Arya's face brightened at the prospect of her first unofficial training session with Edward. He had promised it continuously, and settled on the next day. Standing to full height, and resting his hand on his sword pommel, Edward continued with a question.

"Where's your sister? I need you both in here until supper is ready, and I have to watch over you."

Arya, who had placed Needle in its small scabbard and rested it on her bed, gave a face that screamed 'I couldn't care less'.

"She said she was walking Lady, but for all I know she with the stupid Prince. Besides, do we really have to stay here? It's boring."

The mention of Joffrey caused Edward to tighten his sword grip.

"Ok, I'll go find her and yes, I'm sorry but Father's orders. Dinner won't be too long."

Arya gave a small giggle that was more like a scoff.

"You even sound like a guard now, Edward."

Arya's comment was met with an equally good retort from the Cassel, who wore a teasing smile.

"It's Vice Captain Edward to you, little Lady."

In order to escape Arya's wrath for the terrible crime of calling her by her title, Edward marched out of the tent and looked around for Sansa, his smile from the tent dropping into a small frown.

After searching along the line of tents for a few minutes, he spotted her with her direwolf Lady, who was growing big as well, by her side. She was walking down the road from a path that led through the trees to the Ruby Ford river, and she was heading right his way.

* * *

She saw him in the distance, sword by his side, hair lazily waving in the light breeze. Only briefly, before looking around and down towards Lady as to appear as if she didn't see him.

Sansa didn't know whether to talk to him or not, as it was clear he was waiting for her.

Hopefully he would beg for her to forgive him.

Sansa had been very bitter towards Edward the past 6 days, ignoring him when she could and appearing apathetic. The argument they had the day they left Winterfell had hurt and stung her immensely. It wasn't as much the words, it was the fact it had come from someone whom she considered her _best friend_. Of course, she had never said it out loud, otherwise her friends at sewing class like Jeyne Poole would tease her endlessly about it.

But truthfully, Edward was her best friend, always there for her, kind, sweet, honourable.

 _Was_ her best friend.

Whenever she felt like she was being harsh on him, she just had to think about that day and the look on his face as he snarled her name, almost in disgust.

Whilst she had some weak moments, where she considered talking to him again, she had some moments where she was very tempted to tell Joffrey and Queen Cersei of Edward's insults. However, she didn't want to lose favour with the two, so she kept her mouth shut.

Eventually coming to a stop just in front of Edward, she patted Lady on her head, before casually turning her gaze to look at Edward, who was looking right at her.

For the first time in almost a week, their eyes met.

Both expressed their poker faces, showing cold indifference or casual uninterest. Despite this, both dared not look away, in fear of showing weakness to the other. Sansa didn't move her gaze, her face as neutral as possible, despite the urge to slap Edward. She didn't care if it was unladylike. Edward, despite wanting to make things right between them, was stubborn, and didn't even blink. He would not back down.

Still staring each other down as if their lives depended on it, Edward finally spoke, his voice firm and even, and cold. He would not show emotion. If he did…

"My Lady, I have been ordered by your Lord father to escort you back to your tent, where I will keep watch, until supper."

Not wanting to even give him the satisfaction of speaking to him, Sansa simply nodded, her 'regal' pose, as Robb had once coined it, showing a similarly cold authority. Taking Lady's leash, she led her direwolf down the track towards her shared tent with Arya, with Edward following behind, at a respectful distance.

Although he had been harbouring feelings of guilt and remorse for what he had done, the sight of an apathetic Sansa had just increased his stubbornness at apologising, and so Edward remained silent until they reached the tent, where Sansa took Lady's leash off and let her say hello to her litter-mate Nymeria.

Coming to a stop, Edward kept his cold exterior in place, as did Sansa when they locked eyes again. Hazel-brown clashed with cerulean blue, each looking for any sign of emotion, weakness, whilst determined to show strength.

Under a barely hidden underlying tone of mockery, Edward addressed Sansa.

"If there is anything you need, _my Lady_ , I will be right outside, so do let me know."

For a brief moment Sansa just stood still, her eyes still gauging his, and Edward wondered if she had heard him, before she smiled. Not the beautiful, sweet, shy smile that he was used to, but a smile that reminded him of the Queen; venomous, smug, triumphant.

It was at this moment, he knew he'd lost the struggle, when Sansa spoke directly to him for the first time in forever, with a voice that just dripped with passive aggressive rage.

"I won't."

Before he even had a chance to react, she slipped inside the tent flaps like a wolf into its lair.

Despite having been completely shut down by her, the only thought Edward could come up with, was a sarcastic admonishment of his description ability.

 _A wolf to describe a Stark. You did it again, genius._

Turning around to stand guard outside the tent, as white clouds gathered and covered the sky and a cold breeze swept through camp, Edward had time to think. He wouldn't let her win, not this time.

 _The Starks aren't the only wolves in the North._

* * *

Daylight broke through the tant flaps as the sun's rays _somehow_ found their way onto Edward's face, rousing him from the little sleep he'd been able to get.

His dreams were more like nightmares, always involving Sansa shunning him for what he had done. He resolved to himself that he needed to apologise to her, otherwise their friendship would truly be over.

Sitting up on the makeshift bed that all guards had, he leant over to the basin of cold water that was next to the bed, and wiped his face and neck with the water, which provided cold refreshment.

After running his hand through his hair to make sure it wasn't too messy, Edward got dressed, putting on his undershirt and small tunic (his trousers were already on), and then gathering his studded leather armour and putting it on as well. Finally, putting on his boots and his sword belt, with his sheathed sword and dagger attached, he exited his small tent.

Having to cover his eyes from the sun so that he could adjust to the light, Edward soon noticed what a lovely day it was, the sun shining, with a gentle breeze causing the leaves on the surrounding trees to wave slowly. It was nearly mid-morning, which meant most of the guardsmen and nobility would be having breakfast inside the inn.

Making his way towards the ground-level dining area (He assumed the Starks and Royal family would be having breakfast upstairs), the Stark guards who already had eaten and were taking up watch shifts addressed the Cassel as 'Vice Captain' when he passed, to which he had nodded in acknowledgment, but in surprise at the use of his title. In all honesty, he was glad that Sansa wasn't around. After yesterday, he didn't feel ready to face her again.

Eventually, after finally making his way into the inn, Edward sat next to Jory, and began eating the bread and fruit set out for them.

"Sleep well, cousin?" Jory questioned, a smile on his face.

"Better than before."

"Good, you're going to need the energy today."

Edward stopped eating and turned his head to face his Captain.

"How come?"

There was the 'I know something you don't smile' again.

"Well, Lady Arya came here asking for you. She said that you were training her today."

Edward could have slapped himself for forgetting so easily.

"Well, where is she?"

"Not sure. I've taken your watch shift and given it to one of the others, so you should be free today to go and find the little Lady. You know what she's like when she gets impatient."

Smiling gratefully, Edward thanked his cousin and left the inn, hoping to find his new student.

After searching in her tent, which was empty, Edward was confused as to where she might be.

However, his honed spacial awareness due to years of sword training alerted him to the subject of his thoughts.

Spinning around fluidly, he unsheathed his dagger and went into a combat stance to face Arya, who was trying to sneak up on him with Needle.

Relaxing and sheathing his dagger, Edward chuckled.

"You're going to have to do better than that, little Lady."

Arya moaned in frustration. She was so sure she could have done it. Putting Needle back inside its thin scabbard and throwing it on the bed, she spoke up.

"I've found this really cool place by the river where we can train."

Crossing his arms in amusement, Edward raised his eyebrows and smirked.

"Have you now?"

Brushing off the mocking question, Arya answered, seriousness in her voice.

"Yes I have. Come with me."

With that, she grabbed Edward by the arm and started walking to her little place, Nymeria running off into the woods to no doubt hunt some breakfast, Edward trailed just behind, curious to what she had found.

* * *

After being led down a beaten but well-used track, Edward found himself at the bank of the Ruby Ford. A very large spacious area, with no trees except for a big one right next to the river on his left, and the rest of the woods to his right, covered with lush green grass. Along with the increasingly sunny weather, it would be a perfect place to train.

 _Well done, Arya._

Arya sat on the ground expectantly, waiting for Edward to speak.

Eventually, the Cassel addressed the young Stark girl.

"You're probably wondering why I made you leave Needle in your tent."

Arya responded, annoyance clear in her voice.

"Yeah, why did you do that? I thought we were training for sword fighting."

"I said I'm going to be teaching you about spacial awareness today. It doesn't involve a sword, at least for now."

Unbuckling and taking off his sword belt, and placing it at the foot of the tree next to the river, Edward proceeded to snap two relatively big sticks off the tree, swinging them in the air to test it.

Satisfied that they were strong and big enough, Edward proceeded to make Arya stand still, and with Arya being Arya, she couldn't stop bouncing on her heels, since she was so energetic.

For a good hour, Edward lectured Arya about being aware of all of her surroundings, and that seeing wasn't the only sense she could use. Hearing, smelling and feeling were all useful ways to detect enemies. He also showed her a proper fighting stance, one foot behind the other, standing slightly sidewards. As he put it, "A smaller enemy is harder to hit."

Once she grasped the concept and understanding of why she was learning this, Edward decided to put her to the test.

Still holding the two big sticks in each hand, he set a task for his student.

"Now, before you explode from standing still for too long, we're going to do an activity."

Edward threw Arya one of the sticks, which she promptly dropped. The Cassel smiled.

"Next time, you'll catch it. We're going to have a little duel, except you are going to have to spin around every ten seconds. You have to think that there is always someone behind you, especially when facing off against one person. You cannot be distracted and made to focus on that one enemy, as there will most likely be many waiting to strike. Understand?"

A determined nod and "Yes" from Arya told him she was ready. Both took their stances, stick in each hand. Edward would not even begin to think of using swords for a long while, not whilst Arya had so much to learn.

Edward advanced, swinging the stick in his hand, preparing to strike.

Arya, to her credit, stood her ground, but foolishly forgot her proper stance as she wildly swung at Edward, who simply swatted the attack away with one hand.

"Remember your footing. If you swing like that again, it'll be game over for you. Now spin."

Arya did so, trying to regain her balance after a split second of dizziness, but didn't have time to before Edward placed a calculated strike on her right shoulder.

"Ow!" Arya cried. She didn't expect a stick to sting so much.

Edward, whilst trying to find another opportunity to attack, chuckled.

"How else do you think _I_ learnt? When I was your age, I was covered in bruises, but they helped."

Arya tried to shrug off the the now dull ache in her shoulder, before trying to focus. However, she didn't have time, before Edward called for her to spin again.

* * *

This went on for a good ten minutes, with Arya, determined as she was, starting to falter. She knew her shoulders and arms and legs would sport some _nice looking_ bruises in the morning. But she took Edward's advice to let them make her stronger, and to learn from them.

However, just as she was about to prepare one last attack, an astonished cry of "Arya!" distracted her, which gave Edward the window to give her one last strike on the spot on her upper arm which _hadn't_ been hit yet.

Giving another cry of "Ouch!", she noticed Edward giving the intruders his full attention, so she turned to face them.

Great, it was her stupid sister, tagging along with her stupid Prince.

Already annoyed by their presence, and wanting to continue training with Edward, who had almost shut down at the sight of Sansa, she spoke.

"What are you doing here? Go away!"

Her demand for them to leave was ignored, and prompted Joffrey to turn to his betrothed.

"Your sister?" He asked, an underlying tone of mockery in his question, to which Sansa nodded, although her eyes were focused on Edward, who was trying his best to look calm.

* * *

He was not prepared for this. Seeing Sansa, especially after what had happened, and with her future husband, caused him to go rigid with panic. Not in fear at what she would do, but the trouble that he sensed was brewing; Arya's temper, combined with Joffrey's arrogance, no doubt increased tenfold by the desire to impress Sansa, was not a good mix.

He thought of apologising to her there and then, but he guessed that Joffrey didn't know, and finding out of his argument with her would probably cause him to turn aggressive quickly. That, and he spotted Sansa holding a leather skin flask, no doubt filled with wine. Not good.

As if on cue, the smirking Prince sauntered his way past Arya, his gaze fixed on Edward, still rooting to the spot, his stick lying on the ground next to him, after seeing that he was the one that Sansa was looking bloody murder at.

"So, we meet again. I remember you. Edward was it? What is it that you do again?" He asked, a dangerous tone in his voice.

"He's _nobody_." Sansa snarled in answer to Joffrey's question, in a tone that was almost equal to that day when Edward insulted her.

Arya immediately retorted back at Sansa, eyes glowing in defiance. "He's Vice Captain of the Guard, and he's _our_ _friend_."

Arya wasn't stupid. She had figured out that something bad had happened between her sister and Edward, and by opposing her, she was trying to remind Sansa of how much Edward meant to them. However, Sansa seemed to ignore it, her face darkening as she watched her betrothed challenge the person who had lied and insulted her.

Joffrey continued interrogating Edward, who had managed to gain some composure back.

"A guard who wants to be a knight, eh?"

Edward knew where this was going. He could see that Joffrey had an almost mad glint in his eye, and a cocky smirk, along with his grip tightening around his sword hilt.

He could see out of the corner of his eye, his belt, containing his sword and dagger. _Why didn't I keep it on?_

"Pick up your sword, Vice Captain, let's see how good you are." the Prince challenged, drawing Lion's Tooth, his own blade, from his scabbard.

Edward made to fetch his own sword, but was stopped by Joffrey, who was pointing to the stick on the ground.

"Your sword is right there."

Edward saw his plan. Mirthlessly sucking in a breath in fake laughter, he responded.

"A stick versus steel isn't very fair."

Joffrey's smile dropped instantly, his eyes showing evil intent.

"I am a Prince, and you're not a knight. It seems pretty fair to me. Now pick up your sword."

Edward knew he had no choice. Glancing at Arya, who was wearing a look of shock and anger at what was unfolding, and then at Sansa, who looked so much unlike herself, clutching the skin container full of wine with a very dark look that almost frightened him.

 _Is this what you're like around him?_

Hesitantly picking up the stick on the ground, Edward took a fighting stance.

Whilst he had good feet and balance, not to mention his armour on, it was only studded leather, and still wouldn't fully protect him against live steel if hit in the wrong areas. Mentally sending a silent prayer up to the Old Gods to give him fortune, he readied himself.

"Come, _Vice Captain_ ," Joffrey mocked, "let's see if you can beat me now."

The direct challenge to fight snapped Arya out of her shock, before demanding to Joffrey that the fight end.

"Stop it!"

"Arya, stay out of this!" Sansa retorted menacingly, part of her wanting Joffrey to humiliate Edward and prove his lies as what they were.

Arya grasped her own stick with anger and disbelief in her eyes. Why was Sansa not stopping things? She was always close to Edward, what had happened?

Joffrey, who wore a menacing grin, now mad with sadistic power, made such a sinister comment that even Sansa felt a chill crawl up her spine.

"Don't worry. I won't hurt him….. Much."

What happened next was a blur for Edward. Joffrey turned his attention back to him, lifting his sword, ready to strike him hard. He made to lunge, but was stopped by someone at to his left.

With an angry cry, Arya hit her stick as hard as she could onto the back of Joffrey, making him cry out in pain. Edward stood there in shock, stunned as he watched in what felt like slow motion, as Joffrey swung his sword in all directions trying to hit Arya, who was expertly dodging his attacks. He could see Sansa shouting at both of them to stop, panic and fear in her eyes.

Snapping out of his trance, Edward realised. Joffrey was trying to hurt Arya. He was sworn to protect the Starks. Looking towards the tree, where his belt was, he scrambled to reach it, eventually getting there after hurriedly crawling along the ground to dodge Joffrey's strikes.

Joffrey could only feel rage. He didn't care about anything but cutting the filthy Stark bitch open. He swung wildly, trying to hit the stupid girl, who was just dodging after every attack. But, in a cruel twist of fate, one of the Prince's swipes with his sword caused Arya to fall on her back, missing being struck, but she was now prone and at Joffrey's mercy.

"I'LL GUT YOU, YOU LITTLE CUNT!"

Arya now was scared. She could see how sharp Lion's Tooth was, and the tip was inches away from piercing her.

But then, she heard the telltale sound of a sword being drawn from its scabbard, the steel giving off a small ring, by someone whom she would now idolise for many years afterwards, in a few minutes that would burn into her memory and would be remembered vividly.

"In the name of Eddard Stark, Warden of the North and Hand of the King, lay down your sword!"

Sansa, Arya and Joffrey looked towards Edward, who was standing at his full height, hair gently waving in the breeze, hazel eyes burning with a protective desire that neither of the Stark sisters had seen before. In his favoured right hand, was his sword, gleaming in the sunlight. For a split second, Arya genuinely thought that her father, younger and fitter, was in front of her. Sansa simply stood there in awe, all grudges temporarily forgotten.

If Joffrey seemed worried or frightened, he didn't show it, instead raising his voice to the Vice Captain, his face going red and flailing his arms about, pointing his fingers at Edward and then himself.

"You can't tell me what to do! I am the heir to the Iron Throne!"

Sansa watched the two square off, worry rooting itself deep in her mind. For whom, she didn't really know. She knew she should be worrying for her Prince, but she couldn't stop herself from harbouring a secret desire for Edward to be alright. Truthfully, she knew that Edward was sorry for what had happened, and she would be lying if she didn't feel some guilt and remorse for their fallout. On top of that, what Joffrey was doing was scaring her, she had never seen this from him before. _Is this what will happen in our marriage?_ This confused her so much. Could Edward be _right all along?_ Seeing Joffrey like this, mad with rage at not getting what he wanted, only planted a seed of doubt further in her mind.

Slowly moving his way in front of Arya to protect her, in a defensive combat stance whilst simultaneously gesturing to Arya to get back to her sister, which she did, Edward was in no mood for an argument. When it came to moments like this, all smiles and immaturity was gone, replaced by a steely expression, and a serious, authoritative tone, that seemed to command respect.

"Regardless who you are, Prince Joffrey, not only have you threatened the Vice Captain of Lord Stark's Guard, but you have effectively tried to _murder_ or at the very least _seriously injure_ one of Lord Stark's daughters!"

Joffrey again seemed unfazed by Edward stating his crimes, but it was his next sentence that caused the red mist to descend on him.

"Perhaps the King and Lord Stark will want to hear about this."

In rage at being humiliated, and in fear at imagining his father and the Hand's reactions to what he had done, Joffrey rushed at Edward, intent on doing whatever damage he could with his sword, not caring about the screams of protest from the Stark girls behind the Cassel, shouting Edward's name in fear at the advancing Prince.

This was it. Years of training had so far led to this moment. Oddly calm, Edward could feel the weight of his sword, the grip of the hilt under his hand. The breeze moving through his hair.

Instinct kicking in, Edward allowed himself to perform his countermeasure; both hands on his sword grip, his prefered and stronger right foot moving further behind his left to balance himself, before putting his weight on the backfoot in anticipation for the strike. When it came, Joffrey, without even looking, swung down as hard as he could.

Edward had seen this coming, and by shifting his weight already on his anchored right foot to his left, he pivoted to the right of Joffrey as he swung his sword down, whilst connecting it with his own sword to guide it into the ground.

The move worked perfectly. The top quarter of Lion's Tooth's blade stuck into the ground from the force of Joffrey's strike, with Edward's own sword pressing down on top of the blade due to guiding it downwards.

Edward knew what he would do in this situation. Many times had Robb, and even Jon, fell for this trick, and when their swords had been incapacitated, Edward followed it up with a firm counter-punch to the chest or stomach, sometimes using his pommel and crossguard as a way to inflict bruises.

However, this wasn't practice fights with Robb or Jon. This was the Crown Prince, who had tried to at least severely injure him _and_ Arya, and had no remorse for it. He needed to be taught a lesson, but not just with bruises.

Adjusting his feet, Edward dragged his sword along the blade of Lion's Tooth, creating the rough sound of steel on steel and gathering momentum for a strike of his own. Reaching the crossguards of the sword, he side-stepped by Joffrey, whose hands were still holding onto the grip after the strike.

Having gathered enough momentum with his swing, moving his feet and sidestepping simply allowed the sword to connect with other things than another sword. Namely, Joffrey's forearm.

In one fluid motion, and with a prolonged grunt of anger, Edward moved past Joffrey's right side and with all the force he had, allowed his sword to slash down across Joffrey's arm, from just before his wrist to near his elbow, in a diagonal slice movement, causing blood to immediately start pooling out of the wound.

Joffrey barely had time to register the shock of missing Edward with his strike before the Vice Captain had caused a long gash down his forearm. However, Edward wasn't done yet.

Spinning on his feet just after his sword had cut into the Prince's arm to preserve his momentum, Edward spun his grip of his sword around so that he was holding the blade in reverse, the blade pointing behind him and the pommel in the same direction he was facing. Just as Joffrey felt the burning pain from the injury, and had instantly let go of Lion's Tooth out of instinct, Edward smashed his pommel into his right side, knocking the breath out of Joffrey's lungs with the force of the impact.

Falling to the ground and writhing in agony, not able to even cry out in pain due to being winded, Joffrey clutched onto his injured arm, which was now starting to soak the immediate area of his sleeves in blood. Good thing he was wearing red.

Adrenaline wearing off from the extremely short fight, Edward wiped the bloody side of his sword on his thigh, cleaning it and then sheathing it.

* * *

Arya couldn't believe what had just happened. In the space of barely even 5 or 10 seconds, Edward had completely _humbled_ Joffrey into the dirt. Feeling immense awe and gratitude, she sprinted over to Edward, who had just put his sword belt on and sheathed his blade in his scabbard, and wrapped her arms around his midriff as a sign of thanks.

However, Edward didn't return the gesture. He still carried the serious 'No nonsense' look on his face, as he watched Joffrey finally start crying out in pain after catching his breath back.

Retaining his 'soldier' mindset, he realised the mistake he had made. There would be consequences for injuring the Prince, big ones. And not only that, Arya was involved as well, for she had attacked Joffrey as well.

Cursing to himself silently, his mind racing, he glanced at Joffrey, who was now trying to hold back tears of pain, and and saw the Prince's arm was still bleeding, not a good sign. A plan taking form in his mind, the Cassel turned to Arya, and grasped her shoulders to gain her full attention.

"Arya, listen to me, run to the inn and tell your father, no one else. Tell him what's happened, the whole truth. Understand?"

"But if the Queen finds out you injured him, she'll want you killed!"

Edward briefly looked down at the ground, the possibility of that outcome becoming clearer to him, before looking back into Arya's eyes with a pained smile.

"We'll cross that bridge when it comes to it. Now go, quickly!"

Arya shot off back through the woods to the inn.

Edward stood up and walked over to Sansa, who hadn't moved from her spot. Putting it down to shock from witnessing the fight, and cursing himself again for mentally scarring her, he put his hands on her shoulders, like he had done with Arya.

"Sansa, you ok?" Edward spoke in the gentlest tone he could. Grudge or no grudge, he still cared deeply for her.

Sansa felt the warm presence of the Vice Captain's hands on her shoulders, and managed to truly look into his eyes or the first time in ages, as they were inches away from her. Brown colour surrounded his pupils, with a grey-green mixing with it towards the rim of the iris. Strangely, they were all she could focus on, her breath caught in her throat.

 _Was this the first time she had been this close to his face?_

Mentally scolding herself for such thoughts, and trying to shake off the flustered reverie she was in (she questioned why she was feeling that way), she focused on what Edward was saying.

"Sansa, are you alright?"

Edward was confused as to why she wasn't listening. She could see him, that was for sure, judging by the strangely intense gaze into his eyes that she was giving him, but that was it.

Finally, Sansa seemed to get her voice back, as she responded, her voice quiet, and her gaze now shyly directed to the ground.

"I'm alright."

Edward sighed in relief, but still held that firm tone.

"Ok good, I need you to help me with Joffrey."

Edward knew it was ironic, helping with someone's wounds in which he had inflicted, but he needed to try and bandage up the wound as best he could before too much blood was lost, or the wound festered.

Guiding Sansa over to the prone heir, who was now whimpering at his injuries and not writhing in pain.

Sansa, knowing that despite her new-found fear at her betrothed, she had a duty to care for him, and she still felt for him. Kneeling at his left side, she tried to comfort him, placing a hand on his cheek.

"My poor Prince, look what's happened to y-"

"Don't touch me!" Joffrey shouted in embarrassment at his state in front of the Stark girl.

Edward, in reaction to his outburst, wrapped his hand round the middle of Joffrey's injured forearm, caused the Prince to cry out in agony.

"Your future wife is trying to help you! Unless you stay still and don't make a _sound_ , I won't be able to bandage up your wound!"

Seeing Edward's serious face and hearing the weight of his words, Joffrey nodded, pain lancing through the gash. The Vice Captain let go of the arm, his palm now covered in the Prince's blood, and proceeded to peel back and rip off the sleeve that had now been soaked in blood, much to Joffrey's annoying whimpering.

Keeping a clinical and relatively calm voice, Edward gave an order to Sansa, who up until this moment had been kneeling next to her Prince, not wanting to touch him out of fear of being shouted at.

"My Lady, I need you to pour some of the wine in the flask on the Prince's wound."

Sansa proceeded to do so, pouring carefully purple wine on Joffrey's forearm, which was now exposed due to Edward ripping off the useless sleeve that covered it. The Prince's whimpering became louder as the alcohol cleaned any stray blood off his arm and made the gash feel like it was burning, but cleaned it of any dirt and infection, allowing it to clot faster.

Edward nodded to himself at the work, and gave a small smile of gratitude to Sansa. "Thank you, my Lady."

Sansa watched at Edward ripped off strips of his own sleeve and began wrapping it around the wound to prevent further bleeding, before addressing the Prince, steel in his voice.

"Now, my Prince, I want you to listen very carefully. Go and find a Maester when we get back to the inn, and have him properly tend to your wound. However, if you don't utter a word of this to your mother, I won't say anything to your father or Lord Stark of what you did. This will just be an accident, understand?"

Joffrey, eyes wide at the nature of Edward's threat slash deal, nodded in agreement, not wanting to speak in case it caused pain breathing. However, the Cassel glanced at Sansa, who caught his gaze, and the message it was portraying. _He's lying._

Through his teeth.

Edward and Sansa then helped Joffrey to his feet. As if on cue, Arya arrived, joined by Jory and Lord Stark, who wore troubled expressions on their faces as they saw the Prince with a bloodied and bandaged arm.

Jory took one glance at his cousin, and knew that he was the one to inflict it, just as Arya had said. No doubt he could have done extra damage if he wanted, but he considered the Prince lucky that Edward wasn't in a foul mood, although judging by the little Lady's story, he was not in a good mood either, otherwise he wouldn't have injured Joffrey.

Lord Stark, on the other hand, sighed as if in defeat. Robert, and the Queen especially, would demand to know what had happened. Whilst he in his own opinion knew that Edward had acted in defence of himself and his daughters (he felt a sliver of gratitude and pride at choosing Edward to join his convoy), as he believed Arya no matter what - she would not lie about something like this - he couldn't help but feel as though his Vice Captain would have to survive the wrath of a lioness.

* * *

Darkness had fallen, night beginning. One might think this was the time for people to be relaxing in their homes, sleeping.

But not at the inn. Chaos had erupted.

As soon as the party containing the injured Prince had returned, Joffrey had gone straight to the Maester, who cleaned and properly bandaged his wound. Edward and the two Stark girls had thought that the end of things, as long as the Prince remained quiet.

However, Edward knew he would run to his mother, as a few hours later, as evening began, there was an uproar.

As the sun was setting, Edward was in the woods, a torch in his hand, searching for Arya's direwolf, Nymeria. Arya had come to him with the news that she couldn't find her since the morning, and so Edward had taken two other guards with him to search the nearby woods.

That had been an hour ago, and Edward had since sent the other two men back to the inn, whilst he continued alone.

The light from his torch now becoming the only light source available, Edward wondered if the brush he was searching was the same one he had come across 5 times before. Not wanting to upset Arya with the increasingly likely possibility that Nymeria was lost, he pressed on, but not before Jory came riding up on his horse behind him.

Confused as to why his cousin had turned up, Edward thought nothing of it, until he saw the look of pure terror on Jory's face.

"What is it, Jory? Has something happened?"

"Lady Arya and Sansa have been brought directly before the King and Queen."

Edward's face paled. He knew exactly what was happening. A lead ball of fear anchored itself in his chest, making the young Cassel feel as though his heart was going to burst out of his chest, with the rapid pounding it was giving his ribcage.

Edward decided to ask the question that would confirm his fears.

"What? Why?"

"I think it's to do with the Prince over what happened today."

Edward knew why Jory was saying this to him.

"Which means I…." The young Vice Captain felt his voice fading at the realisation, which Jory finished for him.

"Aye, the Queen demands your presence. They're accusing you of trying to kill the Prince!"

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Edward truly felt scared for the first time in his life. He had to do this. However, he was armed with the truth. He had a very good reason for what he did, and he would prove it, but if it came to it, he would protect Arya and Sansa above himself, even if it cost him his life.

* * *

Ned burst his way inside, knocking past any Lannister guardsmen that was in his way. How dare his daughters be practically kidnapped and brought before Robert without his knowledge!

As soon as he reached the centre of the room, he saw Robert sat there, gloom taking over his face. Queen Cersei stood to his left, with Prince Joffrey, his arm heavily bandaged, to her left. A Kingsguard stood near the Royals.

Immediately as he came in front of them, were Sansa and Arya, who looked more frightened than he had ever seen them. They instantly came to him, as he wrapped his arms around them as they both profusely apologised to him, fear and worry in their eyes.

"Are you hurt?"

The girls shook their heads, still scared of what could happen to them. Ned hugged his daughters tighter, assuring them things were going to be alright, before turning to face Robert, with Northern fury barely hidden in his eyes.

"What is the meaning of this? Why were my daughters not brought to me at once?!"

Cersei, with calm temper evident, as if she were telling off a naughty child, responded.

"How dare you speak to your King in that manner."

"Quiet, woman!" Robert scolded her, causing the Queen to go silent, before addressing his friend. "Sorry, Ned. I never meant to frighten the girls. But we need to get this business done quickly."

Cersei spoke up, anger clear in her voice. "Your little girl and her friend attacked my son. He nearly got his arm chopped off."

Arya, indignant rebellious anger springing in her chest, instantly retorted.

"That's not true! Edward just, cut him a little. He was attacking us and Edward hurt him in defence of me and himself."

Robert tilted his head in interest at the Stark girl's words. The way she spoke of things was way more confident than Joffrey's tale, she kept eye contact throughout.

Cersei, however, was less persuaded, to say the least. Anger growing in her voice, she answered back.

"Joff told us what happened. You and that boy beat him with clubs, whilst his sword was taken from him and he was made to fight with a stick against a sword."

"That's not what happened!"

Joffrey intervened, though his voice was weak and didn't sound confident at all.

"Yes it is! You all attacked me and when I tried to fight back, your friend tried to cut my hand off!"

"Liar!"

"Shut up!"

"ENOUGH!" Robert's voice boomed through the room. "He tells me one thing, she tells me another. Seven Hells, what am I to make of this!"

Arya turned to Sansa, a sort of desperate pleading shining in her eyes.

"Sansa, you were there, tell them what happened!"

As soon as attention was drawn to the eldest Stark daughter, she shrank back in fear. She glanced at the Queen and Joffrey. Whilst she knew the truth, she didn't want to make the Queen angry. If she got angry, she might cancel her betrothal to Joffrey. As scared as she was with his anger issues, she desperately wanted to become Queen.

"I don't know. I don't remember, everything happened so fast. I didn't see."

Arya felt the full sting of betrayal hit her, from her own sister nonetheless! She really had the urge to grab her hair in rage at her lie, but instead she used words, ones that hopefully hurt Sansa more than any physical pain.

"Liar! Edward trusts you, how could you do this to him?"

A small, but incredibly smug smirk crept across Cersei's face, one that neither her husband or his Hand failed to miss. With a triumphant tone in her voice, she spoke up.

"Where is this Edward? I want his head."

Robert answered, a sense of disbelief in his voice.

"What would you have me do, woman? Besides, he is not one of my guard. Ned, where is he? I want his opinion on events, it's only fair."

"You would let the monster who tried to kill your son and heir lie his way out of things? He should be executed on the spot!"

"Goddammit, be quiet woman!"

Robert then turned to Ned for his answer, who turned to one of his guardsmen for an explanation.

"Captain Jory has gone out to find Vice Captain Edward, my Lord. He should be back soon"

Cersei gave a small laugh, one devoid of any positive emotion.

"Vice Captain? I think you should choose your guardsmen more carefully, Lord Stark."

Again, Arya answered back, although she couldn't stop herself from shouting with all the cold rage of a Stark that even King Robert flinched at.

"Edward Cassel is a greater guardsman and fighter than all your Kingsguard and Lannister men combined! If he hadn't stopped your stupid son from attacking me, I wouldn't even be here!"

"How dare you speak about my son like that, you little animal-"

The shouting that occurred was immediately ended by Robert, who stood up to boom "QUIET" across the entire room.

Silence reigned for a good few seconds, with Arya sending very dirty looks towards the Queen and Joffrey, who had angry expressions of their own. Robert then spoke, exasperation in his deep tones.

"Cersei, you will shut up! Ned, control your daughter!"

Ned nodded, his voice firm. "Arya, go with Sansa to your te-"

The Hand of the King was interrupted by the sound of the door swinging open, entered by two new faces.

Jory and Edward Cassel slowly walked through the crowd of Lannister and Stark guardsmen, their faces showing nothing but the typical Northern scowl. Jory ended up standing just behind Sansa and Arya, whilst Edward glanced stoically at the two girls. Arya had a small smile, knowing her argument would be backed up. Sansa, meanwhile, was reminded of Arya's words which only made her feel more guilt at her lying. Maybe she was betraying Edward's trust in her.

Edward, left hand on his sword hilt, his sheathed sword hanging by his left side, gave a solemn and apologetic "My Lord" and a bow of his head to Ned, who simply nodded back. His eyes showed a mixture of emotions; fear, hope, understanding, but he would be damned if he felt disappointment or anger to one of his closest friend's son. Thinking about what Edward had done, he was reminded of his father Rickard's stern, but useful words to him upon his leave for the Vale, and couldn't help but think that Edward was the personification of his words.

 _Try to stay out of fights. But if you have to fight, win._

Edward faced the Royal Family, bowing deeply to Robert out of respect. Robert nodded in respect too. He got ready to address the Vice Captain, but Cersei, who seemed eager to capitalise on any weakness or mistake that Edward made, got in first, venom dripping from her words.

"You will kneel before the King, you vile monster."

Edward knew he had to be truthful in what he said. Whilst he had a gift for playing the 'Game' and hiding true feelings, he was tired of it, and decided to give the Queen a dose of Northern blunt honesty.

"I kneel before Lord Stark, Your Grace. I believe I have already given a formal bow of respectful greeting to your husband, which he has responded in kind. I do not mean any form of insult."

Robert agreed, his frustration at his wife showing. "The boy is right, woman. Be quiet or leave."

After staring at Cersei to make sure she stayed silent, Robert spoke to Edward.

"Now then, what's your name, lad? I've forgotten."

Edward stood almost at attention. "Vice Captain Edward, of House Cassel, Your Grace."

Robert furrowed his brow in deep thought.

"Cassel, Cassel….. I've heard that name before. You aren't by any chance Rodrick's boy?"

"Ser Rodrick is my father, Your Grace, correct. You knighted him during the Greyjoy Rebellion."

Robert nodded.

"Aye, I remember that. Good man, your father. He led the assault on the island of Harlaw, and killed Harras Harlaw in single combat, too. Can't remember what happened to his Valyrian steel swor-"

"Forgive me Your Grace, but I don't believe I was summoned here to learn about the origin of my father's knighthood."

Robert blinked in surprise at being interrupted by Edward, who had noticed the dark look on Cersei's face, and made him want to get things done quickly. Robert saw the small glances the Cassel was sending his wife, which he understood. Taking a more serious tone, he spoke.

"Very well. My son claims that you and the Stark girl attacked him, and that you took his sword from him, and you attempted to take his hand off when he reached for it. Is this true?"

Instantly Edward spoke, seriousness and a hint of anger in his voice, remembering all the details.

"Absolutely not, Your Grace, your son has twisted what really happened to make him appear the victim. In the presence of Lady Sansa and Lady Arya, he tried to force me to fight with a stick against his sword. Lady Arya tried to stop him, and in retaliation, Prince Joffrey attempted to effectively _murder_ Lady Arya with his sword, with no regard for anything." Edward emphasised the word 'murder' with disgust and anger, remembering the mad look on Joffrey's face. He continued.

"By that point, I managed to attain my sword, and I told him to lay his sword down, which he didn't. Instead, he tried to attack me, again with his sword. I can honestly say, in the sight of Gods and Men, that I fought back against the Prince in the name of defending both myself and Lord Stark's daughters, for I am sworn to protect House Stark until my dying day, including the authorisation of the use of combat should the necessary situation arise. I am sure, Your Grace, that you will understand my situation."

Robert sat still the whole time, taking in the boy's words and the manner in which he spoke. His tone was serious, yet he displayed emotion when speaking like the Stark girl had. Their stories almost matched. Just one more detail.

"When did Joffrey have his arm injured?"

Another instant reply. The boy had a good memory.

"When he went to attack me, I sidestepped him and forced him to release his weapon by striking across his arm. Believe my word, Your Grace, he had over-swung, and his arms were exposed. If I had truly wanted to maliciously hurt your son, I could've taken _both_ his hands off with a single swing. I cut across his arm to force him to release his weapon. That is the complete truth."

Robert looked across at his wife and son. Cersei had a look of pure contempt on her face, whilst Joffrey looked defeated, his eyes gazing down at the floor. The King spoke to his son, disappointment clear on his face and in his voice as he spoke.

"You let a little cut on your arm _disarm_ you?"

Turning his attention to Edward, who stood at attention, his left hand gripping his sheathed sword, eyes straight ahead.

"Your story matches the Stark girl's. She spoke with the same confidence you did."

"Thank you Your Grace, I would never lie to my Lord, let alone a King like yourself, but wouldn't Lady Sansa have spoken the same story as well?"

Arya took this opportunity to speak up, betrayal tinting her tone.

"Sansa claims she didn't see what happened. She's a liar."

Arya's comment made Edward turn his head to face Sansa, whose cheeks had gone red from the embarrassment, and her gaze was now directed at the floor, shame showing in her blue eyes. Edward sighed inside. He thought he could trust Sansa. Perhaps his words had hurt her more than he realised, that she didn't even want to take his side. He _had_ to speak to her alone later, he couldn't allow the grudge to continue.

Sansa couldn't even bear to face him, to look into his eyes, that showed such _pain_ at what she had said. This was fate, the Gods punishing her for ignoring him. This is what he must feel. She needed to speak to him, to sort things out, she couldn't take the tension and animosity any longer.

Everyone's attention was drawn back to Robert, who had decided things over.

"Ok, it's done now. Forgive me, Vice Captain, Ned, my Ladies for making you-"

"How dare you, Robert. Your son will bear this scar for the rest of his life, and you are letting the _beast_ who attacked him walk free because his _lies_ match with a little girl's? You would believe the word of a lowly guard over your son's? You aren't even half the man you were."

Cersei, however, was not done. Once Robert's gaze met with his wife's, he could see a mad glint in her green, poisonous eyes. Every time she didn't get her way, or things didn't go as she planned, she _always_ found a way to make him take her side. Robert glanced at the Northerners in front of him, knowing that they wanted this to stop.

One look back at Cersei however, and he knew if he let Edward go, she would make things hell for him. He was too tired to fight over it.

Ned could see the change, the shift in power. Robert had done the right thing, believing Edward, but he could see the tiredness in his eyes at the Queen's anger. Cersei had kept going, until finally she broke him. Knowing what was about to happen, what Robert was about to say, he made to step towards Edward, to shield him.

"So be it."

Cersei proudly called for the guards to seize Edward.

Chaos erupted yet again. Lannisters swarmed towards the group of Starks, aiming to take Edward into custody, who could only look in shock and yet, resignation, at the ground. Ned watched his guards circle round Edward and the girls, who were clinging on to the Cassel for dear life, screaming at the King and Queen for them to stop. Both Sansa and Arya couldn't stop tears from streaming down their faces, desperately wanting Edward to stay, panic in their protests.

Lannister guards threatened the Stark guards, led by Jory, who refused to budge. Things were at boiling point. Soon, swords would be drawn, and blood spilled.

Robert simply looked away, shame in his chest. Cersei wore a big grin on her face at the turmoil unfolding before her. Joffrey, unable to take watching Sansa and Arya's heartbreak, stared at the floor.

Sansa couldn't believe what was happening. She needed to stop this. This was all her fault. If she had just told the truth, then Edward would be fine, the King wouldn't be able to argue against three matching alibis.

She had just sent her best friend, Edward, _her_ Edward, to his death over her betrothal to a vicious boy.

Regretting the decision she had to make, but knowing it was worth it, she shouted out towards the Queen, who looked positively _excited_ at Edward's impending doom.

"Please, don't kill him! Take my wolf instead!"

Cersei called out for her guards to stop, which they did, backing off. Smiling incredulously, she asked for Sansa to repeat herself.

"What did you say, Sansa?"

Gulping to stave off more tears, she repeated herself.

"Kill my direwolf in exchange for Edward's life."

Edward and Ned immediately objected.

"Sansa, you can't do this!"

"What are you doing?"

Shaking off Edward's and her father's words, Sansa adopted her regal stance, back straight, eyes meeting Joffrey's.

"My Prince, if you have any affection in your heart for me, then please allow this to happen."

Joffrey exchanged glances with his mother. He didn't want to reject Sansa just yet. Sensing his hesitation, the Queen spoke.

"Why would I do this, little dove?"

"Edward is more valuable to me, and my father, than Lady. Please, don't kill him, he's my best friend."

Edward's heart swelled at Sansa's confession. _Best friend._ Sansa then directed her next plea to Joffrey, tears now continuing to fall.

"It would break my heart. Please, my Prince."

Ned spoke up. He knew the sacrifice his daughter was making.

"If you must have revenge, Your Grace, then perform it on her wolf. I can assure you, Edward will no longer trouble you or your son."

Cersei's eyes danced between the redheaded Stark, Edward, and Ned in consideration. Eventually, she spoke, her decision made.

"If he so much as appears in my presence, I will have his head on a spike. Where is the wolf?"

Sansa, Edward, Arya, and Lord Stark all breathed a huge sigh of relief. Sansa answered.

"She's outside, on her leash."

Cersei nodded, her smile faded somewhat but still evident.

"Ser Illyn, do me the honour."

Ned put a word in before the executioner could move.

"No. Let me do it."

Cersei tilted her head in confusion.

"Is this some kind of trick?"

"The wolf is of the North. She deserves better than a butcher."

* * *

Edward stood outside. It had been 10 minutes since the events inside the inn. The guards had dispersed, going to their separate parts of the camp. The Royal Family had gone to bed, as had Arya and Sansa, escorted there by Jory.

He couldn't believe what had happened today. Things had started great, and it just gotten worse as the day went on. He then thought that things were going to be fine with his explanation, which had then been turned upside down. And then finally, a compromise was made which felt so much like a loss, a defeat. He didn't care about his death, he'd grown up around soldiers. He had accepted the nature of his fate a long time ago. But Lady…...

She was good, noble in every sense. Innocent of all that had occurred, she now had to suffer.

Edward knew that Sansa, deep down, had made a huge decision, but the right one, in her eyes. Now that he knew what he meant to her, he understood why she had offered Lady's life in place of his. In her shoes, he would have made that choice a thousand times over.

It still didn't stop his eyes from becoming watery as he knelt down next to Lady, who had been obediently sitting next to the post that she was tied to. He stroked her neck, feeling how soft her fur was, before rubbing her ears, and leaning his forehead against Lady's chest, letting the first small tears fall onto her fur as he wrapped his arms around her.

He held the direwolf for a minute or so, not wanting to let go, trying hard not to let the tears start falling freely. He then heard footsteps approaching. Removing himself from his hug, he looked up to see Lord Stark, pain in his eyes at the task he had to do, but his voice was unwavering.

"It's time."

Furiously wiping stray tears away in an effort to compose himself, Edward nodded. Lord Stark knelt down next to him, stroking Lady's back. The Cassel spoke up, his voice cracking with sadness and emotion, not caring for formality.

"I brought her to Winterfell myself. I gave her to Sansa."

Ned nodded in understanding at Edward's pain.

"This is the right thing to do. Sansa agreed to this herself."

"What about me? I made a mistake, and I was willing to suffer the consequences. I hadn't done wrong, not in my eyes, I had done my job, and if that meant being executed for it then so be it. I know you understand, my Lord."

Another nod from Ned, before Edward continued, a wave of tears threatening to spill as he ran his hand through the direwolf's fur.

"She doesn't deserve this. She had nothing to do with any of this. And because of me, she's going to die-" A sob almost forced its way out of Edward's throat, before he shut his mouth with his hand to prevent it.

Edward stood, and made to leave, but not before making one last comment.

"She's a gentle, good Lady. She didn't deserve this….."

Ned watched as the young Cassel left for his tent, barely holding back tears. He knew how much Lady meant to Edward.

Turning his attention back to the direwolf sitting next to him, he gave her one last stroke of her neck and ears, before reluctantly unsheathing his dagger.

* * *

Edward sat there on the side of his bed, his leather armour and sword belt lying on the ground, discarded. He couldn't bear to watch Lady's death, as he blamed himself entirely for it.

As soon as he had gotten inside his tent, he had burst into tears, allowing himself to freely cry for what felt like ages.

Now, after about half an hour, here he was, still wearing his tunic, undershirt and trousers along with his boots, of course. He couldn't bring himself to sleep, the days events not wearing him out just yet.

He could hear footsteps outside his tent. Probably some of his guard, watching over the Stark camp in case trouble came along.

What he didn't expect, was these footsteps to enter his tent. Snapping his head to the entrance, he saw the only person he didn't expect to walk into his tent.

Sansa stood there, looking at Edward sitting at the side of his bed, his eyes bloodshot from crying, his hair in a bigger mess than usual. He didn't look good. But he was _alive_.

Edward could see that Sansa had been crying, no doubt over the fate of Lady. Deep down, he knew that whilst she had done the right thing, it was a big sacrifice.

The Vice Captain stood up, just staring at the redheaded Stark. A few moments of silence passed, both adolescents just staring at each other, waiting for something to be said, tension and sadness in the air.

"I'm so sorry, Sansa. All of this is my fault." Edward finally managed to get out, the sincerity of his apology causing more tears to fall.

Sansa shook her head in response, tears of her own gathering.

"No, I'm sorry, if I had just told the truth instead of being _stupid_ , then everything would be ok."

"You did the right thing. Now that you're betrothed to the Prince, you must take his side, even if he is wrong. You have nothing to be sorry for."

"My betrothal to the Prince nearly killed you."

 _In more ways than one,_ Edward couldn't help but lament to himself. Seeing this opportunity as a chance to fully account for what had happened, he spoke up.

"Sansa, I'm so sorry for what happened at Winterf-"

The eldest Stark daughter cut him off, desperation to apologise herself clear in her voice.

"I'm sorry too, I should never have said those things, I'm sorry for hurting you, I forgive you for everything."

"There's nothing to forgive, my Lady. Did you mean it?"

Edward's question took Sansa off guard.

"Mean what?"

Edward couldn't help the small smile showing on his face.

"About me being your... best friend."

Sansa, in an act of impulse, didn't use any words to confirm Edward's question. Seeing him in pain, and feeling it herself, she felt her feet take her across the tent, an urge to help them heal and to tell him 'yes, I meant it, and still do' simplified into one action.

Edward felt Sansa almost crash into him with the force of her hug, her arms wrapping around his back tightly, her head burying itself into the crook of his neck. This _had_ to be a dream. There was no way that the girl he felt so deeply for was hugging him.

Taking a second to adjust to what was happening, Edward realised that this was real. He wrapped his arms around Sansa's tall, slim frame, stroking her back with one hand whilst tentatively holding the back of her head, running his fingers through her fiery red hair. This close to each other, Edward could properly smell Sansa's scent of morning frost, and pine trees that were abundant in the North. Sansa, on the other hand, could feel Edward's scent of fresh peppermint and forged steel take over her sense of smell. The scent of the other served to relax both Cassel and Stark, as it reminded them of home, which was already so far away

He didn't know if this would ever happen again, but he would remember this moment, this _divine_ moment, for a very long time.

Sansa reluctantly backed away from the embrace, Edward's musk still assaulting her nostrils, but she looked into her Vice Captain's watery eyes, shimmering tears of her own threatening to spill.

"You will always be my best friend. And…. if I had to sacrifice Lady's life for yours a hundred times more, then I would."

At Sansa's heartfelt words, Edward couldn't help the waterworks starting again.

"I will never hurt you again, my Lady. I will never betray you. I swear it. I won't let our Lady's death be for nothing."

The road to overcoming and healing from the events of that day paved and set, and with a friendship mended and strengthened, Sansa gave one of her truly sweet and beautiful smiles to Edward, who bowed in response, as she left the tent for her own.

Closing his eyes, and still feeling her in his arms, Edward resolved to remember this day, for it had taught him many things, good and bad. Thinking ahead to King's Landing, the Vice Captain knew he had bigger days coming.

Finally taking off his tunic and shirt, Edward lay on his bed, feeling sleep taking hold of his mind. But just before it took him, he knew he would never view the scent of frost and pine the same way again.

* * *

 **5 days, one chapter, 13,000 words. Not too bad.**

 **This chapter just became longer and longer as I went through it, so I do apologise if this turns out to be a bit of a marathon for you guys. I'll try to keep it down next time.**

 **So then, a** _ **lot**_ **of stuff happened. It went from good to bad, to worse, to ok, and then back to bad, and finally a glimmer of good.**

 **I hope that you guys understand that Edward's actions caused this whole thing to be very different to the show. Although it did end with Lady's death (I couldn't bring myself to completely change things), the bright side is that it was for the greater good, and brought Sansa and Edward back closer together, not to mention that Sansa is doubting Joffrey earlier than expected. We shall see how long this lasts with King's Landing ahead.**

 **I tried to be as logical and realistic as I could be with the events that happened. Whilst there was a lot of things that didn't really change, the manner and way in which things happened was very different (Lady dying not out of spite etc.).**

 **Please, please let me know if you guys did or didn't like what happened, I will understand either way.**

 **A quick reminder, everything that happens in this story is for a reason, as it will help characters develop, or set things up for later in the story. I didn't make things end up the way they did in this chapter just for the hell of it, I wrote it that way in order to set up rivalries and friendships for King's Landing. These events will have consequences, good and bad.**

 **Let me know if I got the characters right too, I'm always worried about that.**

 **Thank you so much for reading this chapter, reviews are always welcome!**

 _ **Next chapter hint:**_ **Fresh from the incident on the Kingsroad, the Wolves, Stags and Lions enter the capital, where snakes and spiders reside.**

 **Love you all!**

bobberoo98 :)


	7. Chapter 7 - The Rat's Nest

**A/N: Hello guys!**

 **Very late, but I hope that all of you are well!**

 **A New Year, a new chapter, and here we have chapter 7. Before we begin, here is some reviews that need answering.**

 _CunningSlytherin_ **: Thank you so much! I'm so glad you enjoyed the inn scene, and as we mentioned, whilst there might be some moments that seem a little out of character, the presence of Edward changes a lot of events and outcomes, including characterisation and dynamics. Besides, the way I write events is either to help develop the story or characters, and also to set things up for later chapters. Thank you so much for the review! :)**

 _Guest_ **: Words cannot describe how happy your review has made me. I'm really glad you understand the way I'm making things turn out. There will be parts that are very different to normal, but there will be parts that will be more or less the same. I agree completely, the experiences that Edward has in this season will shape him into the person that he will become in the later seasons and chapters, I think that is the same for all the characters. I can't thank you enough, I really hope that this will continue to be a good read for you :)**

 _InfectedElite_ **: Thank you so much, I'm so glad you're enjoying this story above all other ones, it really makes me feel good! It's really great that you see Edward as 'realistic', as I've seen other OCs and they are real Mary Sues, so I wanted my character to have some flaws about him in order to b realistic, I'm so glad you see him as that! As for your prediction/hopes for Edward, I can only say that you'll have to read on to find out, but both are very possible in the future. Thank you again for the review, I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

 _Guest_ **: Wow, I've honestly never thought of it like that before, that sounds like a great idea! I've always seen that borderline obsession as a flaw with Edward, and comparing it with one of the biggest villains of the show (in my humble opinion) could bring out some very interesting story arcs. Considering how dark Game of Thrones can be, this story will be quite gritty and serious. Who knows, perhaps the two characters might meet at some point in the story….. Thank you so so much for this awesome review, keep them coming!**

 **As a little side note, I know that the journey times and stuff in this might be a tad inaccurate compared to the show and books, but I'll try my best to keep things as continuous as possible.**

 **Now, on with the new chapter! Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Chapter 7 - The Rat's Nest_

Tired hands ran through thick, slightly messy hair, accompanied by a long, drawn out sigh of a mix of boredom and frustration.

It had been almost a week since the incident on the Kingsroad, putting the overall journey from Winterfell to the capital at just over two weeks, including stops for rest and food. Still, that didn't stop Edward's groin from either aching or going numb due to the prolonged horse riding each day. Not to mention, the further south the convoy went, the hotter and thicker the air became. It made the Vice Captain feel like he was suffocating in comparison to the clean, cold air of the North, although he imagined that Lord Stark and the rest of his party felt the same.

Besides, he wasn't here to complain about the weather, and he would rather breathe the uncomfortable Southern air for the rest of his life in comparison to the sentence that briefly awaited him in the Riverlands.

Pushing the thoughts of that day to the back of his mind, he let his eyes wander to the sight of King's Landing in the distance. The Red Keep stood upon Aegon's High Hill, watching over the city.

"Keep in formation, cousin. You can stare at the city later."

Jory's voice snapped Edward's attention back to the present. He was falling behind.

The young Vice Captain spurred his horse slightly in order to catch up to Lord Stark and Captain Jory, eventually coming up to Lord Stark's left hand side, whilst Jory was on the Hand's right. The trio rode white, majestic stallions, as they trotted into the city, leading the convoy of Stark guardsmen and supply trains.

The common people of King's Landing stood in awe of the Northerners making their way towards the Red Keep, smiles adorning their dirty faces at the new arrivals.

After ten minutes of going through the city, the Stark convoy finally reached the magnificent Red Keep, the fortress's red stained walls easily recognisable.

 _Stained red with all the blood of the builders who made it, so the legend goes,_ Edward thought to himself.

The Cassel looked back at the line of carriages and carts, carrying supplies and resources for the Stark household and the guardsmen who were escorting it. The direwolf banners swung proudly in the warm summer breeze, which caused a surge of pride within Edward. He was so happy to be serving the Starks.

Dark brown eyes met his hazel ones from the cart directly behind him. Arya seemed to be suffering the same problem as him, clearly not impressed with the hotter Southern climate, as was shown by the heavy scowl she wore on her features. Sansa, on the other hand, looked completely enchanted with the Red Keep, a look of wonder on her face, shown by an increasingly large smile.

Seeing Sansa feeling much better than a week ago caused a small heartfelt grin on Edward's face to show. _She deserves this._

Turning back to face forward, he followed alongside Lord Stark and Jory as they came to a halt in one of the many courtyards of the Red Keep.

Ned dismounted, feeling weary from the day's (and the past two weeks) journey. However, he had barely just touched his feet upon the ground before he was approached by one of the Royal stewards.

"Welcome, Lord Stark. Grand Maester Pycelle has called a meeting of the Small Council. The honour of your presence is requested."

Inwardly, Ned sighed. In truth, he was very tired. But, he had a job to do. Besides, being at the Small Council with Robert would help him to get to grips with being his Hand.

The Lord of Winterfell turned back to his Captain and Vice Captain, who were still mounted. He could secretly notice the same tiredness in their faces.

"Jory, Edward, go with the Septa and help the girls unpack and settle in. You can go and sort out your new barracks afterwards."

Two slightly deep-toned answers of "Yes, My Lord" followed from the two Cassels. Ned switched his gaze to his daughters. Clearly, just by looking at them, he could tell that Sansa was in a better mood than Arya.

"I'll be back in time for supper. Go on."

Turning back to the steward, he was met by a question.

"If you'd like to change into something more appropriate…"

Barely just arrived, and Ned could tell that Southern life was immensely different and more extravagant than in the North. Why would he need to change clothes?

The Hand stoically responded by simply taking off his gloves. The steward, looking rather uncomfortable, then proceeded to lead Ned to the Small Council chambers.

* * *

"I don't understand why _I_ had to come here. Sansa I can understand, because she has to marry that stupid Prince."

"I know, little Lady. But it would do you some good to explore outside of Winterfell and the North. Your father, if I've learnt correctly, spent most of the later years of his childhood at the Vale."

Edward chuckled to himself as he stood in the mess that was Arya's new room. Spacious and fairly decorated, he would jump at the chance to have a room like this. However, the young Stark girl was getting increasingly frustrated at the seemingly endless task of unpacking her clothes, folding them again, and putting them in her wardrobe and drawers.

Arya's hair, if it could be any wilder, was so, stray hairs completely out of place, and dark circles under her eyes indicating the lack of sleep she had gotten was affecting her mood.

Edward couldn't really blame her; he hadn't slept well either, and so fully understood what she was feeling. Again, he ran a hand through his almost equally messy and longer hair, feeling how much it had grown since Winterfell. Even his stubble was starting to become easily visible hugging across his jawline, as he felt across his face. He would need to have a haircut and a shave.

Despite knowing the unpacking was a reason for his friend's moodiness, Edward knew there was something else that was saddening her. Something deeper. Something that deep down, he knew about.

Leaning down to the little Lady's height, he gave a concerned look to her, forcing Arya to look him in the eyes.

"Arya, I'm so sorry about Nymeria. I did the best I could to find her, I hope you know that."

Arya knew that whenever Edward addressed her by her name, he was being serious and sincere. But the typical Stark stubbornness that she had in abundance came to the fore, brows furrowed in an angry expression.

"You should have found her."

Edward stood there silent, downcast. Everything just had to be _his_ fault. Sansa, the incident, the Queen, and now Nymeria.

"Is there not anything I can do to show you how sorry I am?"

It was then that Edward noticed a small, mischievous smirk tug at Arya's mouth. She then went over to where Needle was, in its small thin scabbard, and took it in her hands, before turning back to the Cassel, smiling this time.

"You can teach me how to do that thing you did to Joffrey."

A laugh, or more a scoff, emanated from Edward in response. Crossing his arms in an informal manner, he couldn't help but smile at the young Stark's enthusiasm.

"The day I teach you that is a long way away, little one. You barely even know the basics."

The young Cassel allowed the memory of the day to slip back to the front of his mind, which only brought back sadness. His smile dropped. Was he doing the right thing? Training Arya by himself, when even he did not have a full understanding of what it means to be a soldier, or a warrior? Contemplating further, he was reminded that he had yet to kill a man. The injury he gave Joffrey was as far as he got, yet, inside he expected himself to be shocked at what he did. Why then, did he feel numb, _accepting_ even, at the thought of what he did?

And why, for the love of the Gods above, was he feeling an itch, an eagerness, a sense of _excitement_ , for the eventual moment when his innocence, if it could be called that, would be broken? Surely he wouldn't be ready to kill just yet, surely he didn't want to? Feeling confusion at what he was feeling, and the questions it asked, Edward knew he had to speak to one person about it.

"Edward!"

Arya's concerned shout snapped Edward back to the present. He needed to stop daydreaming and getting distracted.

"Sorry, Arya."

"Are you ok?"

Knowing he wasn't, Edward forced a smile.

"Yeah, I'm alright. Listen, we'll start training again soon, I promise. Just let yourself get settled in and I'll find somewhere safe where we can spend our sessions. Sound good?"

Reluctantly, Arya nodded. Eager as she was, she knew it was only logical that she needed to familiarise herself with King's Landing. Edward reached down and gave her a hug.

"Good. Can I leave you to finish unpacking?"

The little Stark girl nodded again, with which Edward put on his sword belt, blade and dagger attached, and headed for the new barracks in which the Stark guard would be staying.

But first, he would need answers to the conflict he felt.

 _Hopefully Lord Stark could give me them._

* * *

Ned entered the Small Council chamber, tired, hot, and quite angry.

How dare Jaime Lannister call breaking his oath and killing the King he served 'the right thing'?

 _Damn Lannisters,_ Ned thought to himself as he had left the throne room, the very room where the Rebellion started, with his father and brother's deaths, and where the Rebellion ended, with the Kingslayer earning his nickname by shoving his sword through Aerys Targaryen's back.

Shaking the tense exchange he had endured with the arrogant Kingsguard out of the front of his mind, Ned opened the door into the chamber, and was greeted with 4 men surrounding a long table, light entering the room through a circular tinted window behind him and a large window to the left of him.

"Lord Stark."

First to greet him, a bald, portly man who rose from his seat, raising his hands out in anticipation for a handshake, his features expressing a warm welcome. However, Ned knew who this man was, as did anyone in Westeros and beyond, and he knew to be wary. Ned accepted his handshake with taciturn greeting, as was his typical persona.

"Lord Varys."

"I was grievously sorry to hear of your troubles on the Kingsroad," Varys said with sincerity, "we are all praying for Prince Joffrey's full recovery."

Ned could have laughed, if he weren't almost offended. _Of course_ their focus was on Joffrey's well-being, despite him being responsible for starting the events that led to his injury, and not that of the true victims of the incident.

"A shame you didn't say a prayer for my daughter and Vice Captain. They nearly died because of the Prince."

Having said all he wanted, in true Northern bluntness, he moved aside to greet the others in the room. The Master of Whisperers' face dropped like a rock. Lord Stark would definitely bring a challenge.

Ned walked over to the right side of the table, a weathered yet genuine smile appearing on his face as he addressed a young man that he had known for years as a result of being the King's firm friend since he was Edward's age.

"Renly, you're looking well!"

The young Lord of Storm's End and Master of Laws smiled back to Ned as they embraced in a manly hug. Only in his early to mid 20's, Renly looked very much like his eldest brother, except he was in much better shape and his beard was well trimmed, hugging his handsome face.

"And you look tired from the road." Renly replied as they separated. "I told them this meeting could wait another day, but-"

"But we have a kingdom to look after."

Ned moved past Renly to address the person who had finished Renly's sentence. Leaning against the chair furthest away from Ned, a man who he knew of all too well. Unfortunately.

"I've hoped to meet you for some time, Lord Stark. No doubt Lady Catelyn has mentioned me."

Throwing his cloak on his seat, Ned responded. He wished that he never had to meet this man, with what he had done in the past, and the reputation he had garnered for himself.

"She has, Lord Baelish. I understand you knew my brother Brandon, as well."

Littlefinger smiled briefly at the retort. He knew Lord Stark would address that duel between him and his eldest brother.

"All too well, I still carry a token of his esteem, from navel to collarbone." He replied, gesturing from his waist to his neck.

Ned smiled, mockingly. "Perhaps you chose the wrong man to duel with."

"Oh, it wasn't the _man_ I chose, my lord, it was Catelyn Tully."

Ned's smile dropped slightly at the mention of his wife. He knew Baelish had a desire for Catelyn, and that reminder made him remember why he made his skin crawl.

"A woman worth fighting for, I'm sure you'll agree." Littlefinger said matter-of-factly.

Ned turned his attention to the last man he had yet to greet, who spoke first. An old, bearded man sat beside him, a chain of various and numerous metals hanging from his neck.

"I humbly beg your pardon, my Lord Stark."

"Grand Maester." Ned replied. A very wise man, Grand Maester Pycelle had been in his position for several decades, having been Grand Maester during the reign of the Mad King.

"How many years has it been? You were a young man."

"And you served another King."

"Oh, how forgetful of me." Pycelle reached into his cloak, and pulled out a shining gold pin, iconic through the past 300 years. The pin that identifies the Hand of the King.

Pycelle handed it to Ned. "This belongs to you now."

Ned stared at the finely detailed pin. A rush of nervous adrenaline went through his body at the realisation of the task he faced.

"Should we begin?" Pycelle asked.

Ned snapped his head up to face the Small Council members in confusion.

"Without the King?"

"Winter may be coming, but the same cannot be said for my brother." Renly answered with barely hid disappointment.

Ned couldn't believe it. Surely Robert attended Small Council meetings? Yet, the unsurprised looks on his fellow council members answered the question for him.

Varys spoke up eventually, his sophisticated voice carrying an aura of tact. "His Grace has many cares. He entrusts some small matters to us that we might lighten the load."

"We are the lords of small matters here." Littlefinger said, fake pride tinting his tones.

Renly, sitting on Ned's left, handed the Warden of the North a sealed scroll, which he took and read.

"My brother instructs us to stage a tournament in honour of Lord Stark's appointment as Hand of the King."

 _Unnecessary and pointless,_ Ned thought to himself as he went through the scroll. He didn't want a tourney in his honour, being Hand was a serious job, not meant to be a cause for a lavish and expensive event.

"Hmm, how much?" Littlefinger asked cautiously, being Master of Coin.

Mentally sighing, Ned braced himself for the answers he would give out to Lord Baelish.

 _Too much,_ he sullenly thought to himself. _I will need to speak to Robert about this._

* * *

"Ouch!"

"Please, it's nearly healed." Cersei told her son, as she helped to apply gauze and fresh bandages to Joffrey's wound, sitting in his room. The sun was beginning to drop, midday having been an hour or two ago.

The Prince scowled at the gash on his right forearm, hoping it would force the wound to scar and heal faster. He was still fuming at how it had happened. He was still fuming at the sheer audacity of it all. How dare a stupid Northerner attack _him._ He was the heir to the _Iron Throne_ , that _Edward_ was a filthy guard who had nothing to his name and probably never washed in his life.

"It's ugly." he complained.

"A King should have scars. You fought off an aggressive Northerner. As brutish as they are, they are good soldiers. You're a warrior, like your father." Cersei said, her words rolling of her tongue as if she was telling the truth.

Joffrey was slightly surprised at his mother's altered version of events.

"I'm not like him," he emphasised stubbornly, his emerald green eyes reflecting the sun's light, "I didn't fight off anyone. I swung my sword at him like an infant would and he used his sword properly, and I paid for it. All I did was scream and cry."

As Cersei continued to concentrate on dressing the wound whilst listening to her son, Joffrey continued, mocking Edward. "And the two Stark girls saw it happen, both of them. Just standing there in awe of their stupid Northern 'knight'."

Cersei responded as if he were telling a lie.

"That's not true. You defeated him, and when he tried to set one of those _beastly_ direwolves on you, you killed it. You only spared the younger girl because of the love your father bears her father, and you spared the boy out of the King's mercy."

Now Joffrey was confused. Why was mother telling him the events as if _he_ had won?

"I didn't, I-"

"When Aerys Targaryen sat on the Iron Throne, your father was a rebel, and a traitor." Cersei looked her son in the eyes. "Someday you'll sit on the throne and the truth will be what _you_ make it."

Joffrey contemplated those words. Does a King really have that power? He thought back to the events of that day. Truthfully, deep down, he felt so guilty about what he did. He'd embarrassed himself in front of his _betrothed._

Joffrey shifted his thoughts to Sansa. She was beautiful and graceful, no doubt, but he had managed to notice the look in her eyes when the incident happened. She looked scared at the way he became. Shame engulfed him again at the knowledge that he had pushed her away when she was only trying to help him. He wasn't sure he would be able to handle looking her in the eyes after that.

 _Besides, she seemed to support the Cassel boy over me_ , a tiny voice in his head told him.

Shaking that voice from his mind, Joffrey thought of his eventual marriage to Sansa. The experience he had on the Kingsroad had deteriorated his already low view of the North and its inhabitants. Having a wife, albeit a pretty one, from the North and the thought of combining his powerful family with hers didn't seem right. Sharing blood with those _people_ made his skin crawl with disgust.

 _A Lion deserves better than a Wolf._

With that in mind, and with shame turning to disgust, he spoke up again.

"Do I have to marry her?"

Cersei, having finished redressing the wound, faced her son, her eyes portraying a stern authority.

"Yes."

Upon seeing the look of disappointment on Joffrey's features, she elaborated. "She's very beautiful and young. If you don't like her, you only need to see her on formal occasions, and when the time comes, to make little princes and princesses."

It was Joffrey's turn to look his mother in the eyes, as she continued.

"And if you'd rather fuck painted whores, you'll fuck painted whores. Or if you'd rather lie with noble girls then so be it," Cersei gently held her son's chin to get him to look at her, "you are my darling boy and the world will be exactly as you want it to be."

She let go of Joffrey's face, before issuing a small demand to him.

"Still, you will do something nice for the Stark girl."

"I don't want to-" Joffrey protested, the idea of facing Sansa as appealing as it was to Edward a week ago, but he was cut off by Cersei.

"No, but you will. The occasional kindness will spare you all sorts of trouble down the road."

Joffrey stood pacing across his room. He shouldn't have to _apologise_ to those dirty Northerners.

"We allow the Northerners too much power," he stated angrily and with barely hidden contempt, "they consider themselves our equals."

This intrigued Cersei. _So he does notice._

"How would you handle them, my son?"

"I'd double their taxes," the Prince said, ideas running through his head, "and command them to send 10,000 men, that's half of all their forces, to the royal army."

"A royal army?" Cersei questioned.

"Why should every Lord command his own men? It's primitive, we should have a standing army of men, loyal to the Crown, and trained by experienced soldiers, not a dirty mob of peasants."

"And if the North rebels?"

Joffrey smirked that sadistic, dark smile before turning serious.

"I'd crush them, seize Winterfell and install someone loyal to me as Warden of the North. Uncle Kevan, maybe."

It was Cersei's turn to smile.

"And these 10,000 Northern troops, would they fight for you, or the North?"

Joffrey flinched out of offense, anger clearly showing.

"For me, I'm their _King._ "

"But you've just invaded their homeland, asked them to kill their brothers-"

"I'm not _asking._ "

Cersei paused, before speaking again.

"The North cannot be held by any outsider - it's too big, too wild, too loyal to their own. And when winter comes, not even the Seven above could save you and your royal army."

The Queen stood, explaining further.

"Your royal army wouldn't work, because when faced with the dilemma of killing their own or others, they will go for the others _every time_. Look at your Uncle Jaime, for example. He was told to murder your grandfather and watch as innocents burned alive by the King he was sworn to protect. And we all know what happened afterwards."

Joffrey's head was dropped slightly in defeat at his mother's logical explanation. Cersei walked up to her son and took him by the arms, to get him to look at her, which he did. Cersei decided to give him some last advice.

"A good King knows when to save his strength, and when to destroy his enemies."

Joffrey nodded, the smirk returning to his face. "So you agree? The Starks _are_ our enemies?"

Cersei nodded lightly, a small smirk crossing her lips.

"From the Hand down to that traitorous boy who hurt you. Everyone who is one of _them_ , is an enemy."

* * *

"War was easier than daughters." Ned remarked half-jokingly to Septa Mordane, after having to deal with a tired and frustrated Arya and Sansa, who wouldn't stop arguing. Clearly the long journey had affected them both.

Leaving the dining room in the Tower of the Hand, Ned decided to head to his solar, to try and contemplate the meeting with the Small Council.

 _6 million golden dragons in debt?_

As he found his way to his new solar, and was about to open the door, the Stark guardsman who was standing watch at his door spoke up.

"My Lord, the Vice Captain visited earlier in the hope of speaking to you personally. I told him I would notify you when you returned."

 _What could Edward possibly want to talk about?_

"Where is he at the moment?" Ned asked the guard.

"At the household barracks, my Lord."

Nodding in thanks, Ned turned around and made for the barracks, reaching it just as the sun was beginning to touch the horizon.

Making his way inside, he could see that many of the guards that were off duty were beginning to settle in nicely, some playing card games and some cleaning their swords and armour.

Standing in the doorway he scanned the vast room, containing long tables and chairs in which the guards mainly sat. It looked very much of a similar design to one of the halls at Winterfell.

Jory was the first to spot Ned, and immediately stood to attention with a yell of "Lord Stark!", which instantly alerted the other guards in the room to stand to attention.

Ned scanned the room again, before addressing the guards.

"It's alright, men, stand down. I'm simply looking for Vice Captain Edward."

All eyes moved to the location of the young Cassel, who was standing near the doors leading to the dormitories. Edward walked over briskly to Ned and bowed deeply, as all the other men went back to the activities they were up to before.

"My Lord, I'm at your service."

Ned gave a brief grin in recognition.

"Thank you, Edward. I was told you wanted to speak to me about something."

Edward's gaze faltered for a second, before he gathered his composure and nodded.

"Yes my Lord. It's something personal."

Ned nodded this time, in understanding.

"Of course. Come with me, we'll talk in my solar."

Once they had reached Ned's solar, the Hand sat in his chair, whilst Edward stood there, clearly nervous and uncomfortable with what he was going to say.

"You can sit down if you want, lad, you don't need to be afraid."

Edward did so, wringing his hands together, his brow furrowed in turmoil. Seeing this, Ned leaned forward, resting his arms on his desk.

"What's wrong?"

Edward finally gathered up enough courage to look up and face Ned, yet the Hand could tell he was hesitant.

"I was thinking….. about the Kingsroad, when I injured the Prince."

Ned sighed lightly. He had a feeling it would be about that day.

"No matter what anyone says, you did the right thing. You protected Arya and yourself, you've nothing to be afraid or ashamed of, lad."

Edward gave a brief, small ghost of a smile of gratitude.

"Thank you, my Lord, but it's not about that. It's about when I hurt Prince Joffrey…. I was expecting myself to be shocked at what I did, but-"

"You weren't." Ned finished in recognition of what Edward was feeling, to which the young Cassel instantly looked directly at Ned, a silent request for answers.

"I know how you feel. Injuring a man for the first time is a serious thing, ending one's life, even more so."

"Then why did it feel natural, normal, even? I had never thought that I would be ready for something like that, and now, when the time comes when I have to, to kill someone….. I'm scared that I'll be changed, different."

Ned listened intently, taking in Edward's words, before speaking.

"I was once in your position, Edward. So was Jory, and your father at some point. I know I felt guilty about having to bring harm upon another man. But I knew it was for the right cause. It's good that you feel like this, because it shows that you have been taught well."

"But none of my training has prepared me for this!" Edward almost shouted, in frustration and desperation.

Ned simply nodded. "I understand, lad. But do you know why I brought you, and Jon, and Robb, and Theon, and Bran to executions over the years?"

Upon seeing confusion on the Cassel's face, Ned continued. "I did it because I didn't want to hide the reality of the world from any of you. People die, all the time, and sometimes, it is us that must do it."

"The man who passes the sentence…."

"...Must swing the sword." Ned finished, happy that Edward understood.

The Cassel spoke up again, after a brief pause of thinking.

"I just thought that it wouldn't come down to it so soon. The idea behind killing I can understand, because it is necessary sometimes, and the action itself I'm fine with because I've been trained by the best, but I'm worried, my Lord. About how it will affect me, whether I'll _feel_ anything."

"I know lad. The time will come when you may have to take a life, and I never wish that you or anyone should go through that."

Ned caught Edward's gaze, resolve on his weathered and rough face.

"But winter is coming, Edward, you know it as well as I, and when it does, you need to be prepared. I have no doubt that you are a good fighter, and you have already shown your courage to stand against those who would do wrong. However, the only advice I can give you is that you must focus on what you're fighting for, and let that motivate and drive you. Killing is unpleasant at best, but let the motive behind it help you to be brave."

Edward sat there, contemplating Lord Stark's wisdom. _I fought Joffrey to protect the girls, and I didn't feel bad because it was for them._ _I won't let any bad affect me, I am of the North, and I am brave._

"Thank you, Lord Stark. I'll not let guilt affect my actions. In your service, I will not hesitate to fight for you until my last day."

Ned gave a smile, that infected Edward, causing him to grin too.

"I've never thought otherwise, Edward. You're a good lad. I… also want to thank you for protecting my daughters. I never got the chance to."

Standing up from the chair, Edward gave a deep bow, before standing again, in one fluid motion like well-oiled clockwork. "I will protect you and yours until the end of days, my Lord. I would never let any Stark be harmed in my presence."

Standing as well, Ned addressed the Cassel.

"Thank you, Edward. You are very much like your father. He would be very proud. Now, it seems that I need to talk to Arya."

"Aye, my Lord. She does seem quite irritated today."

"You wouldn't mind speaking to Sansa? You know how Arya can be to her, you wouldn't mind seeing if she is alright?"

Edward's cheeks slightly flushed at the thought of Sansa, and the still fresh memory of holding her in his arms. He really wanted to see her beautiful face, to hear her pure, sweet voice. Composing himself, he nodded in eagerness.

"Of course, My Lord, it would be my honour."

* * *

A knock at the door alerted Sansa to the presence of someone outside her room. Having gotten into her nightgown, and just preparing to brush her hair before getting into bed, she was surprised that someone would want to speak at this time in the evening. A crescent moon was shining through the balcony in her room, with candles illuminating where the white glow could not reach. Sansa really thought it enchanting, King's Landing at night.

"Come in!"

The eldest Stark daughter was surprised to see, instead of her father or sister, Edward open and close the door behind him, although it was a pleasant surprise, having not seen him all day.

He was off-duty by the look of things, with his studded leather armour and sword belt absent, leaving just his tunic, undershirt, trousers and boots being worn. Sansa noticed that his hair was definitely longer, although not as long as what Jon's was, and his stubble was more defined on his jaw, having grown as well. Overall, this made him look like a mix of Robb and Jon. Slightly rough, but definitely handsome.

Greeting her best friend with a polite curtsy and a genuine smile, Edward returned the greeting, sporting his signature grin and bowing respectfully.

Finally being able to gaze at Sansa after a tough first day was like being able to breath after being underwater for Edward, as he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. The moonlight gave her fiery orange hair an ethereal glow, the candlelight making her gorgeous cerulean blue eyes shine in perfect contrast to her red hair and porcelain, rosy cheeks.

"Good evening, my Lady. I hope I'm not intruding. Your father wanted to check if you were alright." Edward said, trying hard not be completely engulfed in Sansa's beauty.

"It's alright, Edward. I was just about to brush my hair." Sansa replied, her sweet voice like harmonic music to the young Cassel's ears, as she walked over to her dresser and sat down, beginning to work through any knots in her hair with a brush.

Edward took this opportunity to look around Sansa's room. Very much like Arya's, it was spacious and very cosy, the candles giving off a fittingly warm aura to the place.

Looking back to the subject of his thoughts, he noticed that Sansa was struggling to reach the very back of her hair with the brush. Walking over, and gently taking the brush from her soft hands, Edward noticed that Sansa didn't resist in any way, and he proceeded to gently brush the missing knots.

Sansa, meanwhile, sat there silently and patiently, enjoying the company and help Edward was offering. Choosing to speak up to break the silence, though it wasn't uncomfortable, Sansa decided to tease her friend, a small, mischievous smile appearing on her flushed face.

"I didn't know a brave swordsman had the finesse and grace to brush a lady's hair."

Edward gave a chuckle and a grin in response, briefly looking at Sansa's _gorgeous_ smile through the mirror on her dresser before focusing on a different part of her hair.

"Handmaidens and fair ladies aren't the only ones who know how, my Lady. Men of nobility do too."

This elicited a small laugh from the Stark, her eyes shining like the clearest water in the light. Eventually, after a brief but pleasant silence, Edward finished smoothing out Sansa's soft and radiant hair with the brush, leaving it flowing like copper fire.

Sansa stood and faced Edward, smiling with gratitude, to which the Cassel returned the gesture.

"Thank you, Edward."

"It's no problem at all, my La-"

"You don't need to call me that, you know. Not when we're alone."

"Ok then….. Sansa."

Edward's deep, smooth utterance of her name sent a very unexpected and excited rush of butterflies in her stomach, which surprised Sansa immensely. _Why did that happen?_

Trying to shake off the weird (yet strangely satisfying) feeling, she chose to probe into Edward's knowledge of how to be a handmaiden, the teasing smirk appearing once again.

"I didn't know you could brush hair that well, I've never seen you with a brush before."

Sansa expected Edward to brush it off with his typical grin and an equally teasing comment, but she wasn't prepared when Edward's features took on a very sombre expression. Her smile dropping instantly and being replaced with a concerned frown, she worried that she had offended him in some way.

"Are you ok? I'm sorry if-"

"It's alright. It just…. Brought up something."

Still concerned and mildly curious about what Edward had thought of, Sansa sat down on the end of her bed and gestured for the Cassel to join her, which he did, sitting closely by her left side, his elbows resting on his knees, with his hands clasped together.

Not wanting to intrude or interrupt his line of thought, Sansa politely stayed silent, and waited patiently for Edward to tell her of his ailment, which he did.

"It's so silly, really. I don't know why I'm like this."

"It's ok, you're not being silly at all. You can tell me what's wrong." Sansa answered sincerely. She barely noticed, but her left hand subconsciously found its way to rest on her friend's forearm.

She could see Edward hesitating. Little did she know that it wasn't down to the issue at hand, but the touch of her hand, mixed with the close proximity of the two, was sending adrenaline-fueled electricity flowing through his veins. However he successfully gathered himself before he spoke up once more.

"I remember brushing a woman's hair….." he almost whispered, the emotion displayed in his tones causing his voice to nearly fail to project.

Sansa was about to question who this mystery woman was, but Edward answered it for her, his voice gravelly, and hoarse.

"...it was my mother's."

Sansa couldn't stop her right hand raising up to her mouth in surprise, and recognition of the importance of the memory. Of course, she had known about the death of Edward's mother, and the fact that he had barely known her properly, due to her death from illness when he was 3.

"Edward, I'm so sorry…." She apologised, her left hand gripping his arm a little tighter, in an attempt to comfort.

"She had black hair, long and beautiful. I remember playing with it, and she let me brush it sometimes." Edward continued, his voice starting to crack with heavy emotion, and his eyes staring at a part of the floor. "So I guess that's where I know how to brush hair properly."

He managed to give the tiniest whisper of a smile, before Sansa saw a fat teardrop roll down his right cheek and land on the ground. Sansa felt tears of her own gather at the sight of Edward in such a vulnerable state, but what he said next really tugged at her heartstrings.

"It's the only proper memory I have of her."

As soon as he uttered that sentence, he stood up immediately, wiping his face to get rid of stray tears. Sansa stood as well, keeping a respectful distance, although she desperately wanted to comfort him, she ached to make him feel better.

After a long silence, Edward turned to face Sansa, his eyes still watery with unshed tears. He scoffed, partially out of disbelief and shame for reacting that way to such a trivial, yet cherished half-memory.

"I'm sorry, Sansa. I feel so stupid, it's only a memory of brushing hair, and yet I'm stood here weeping like a small child who lost his toy."

"No, it's ok Edward," the Stark replied, shaking her head to dispel Edward's notions of silliness, "I understand that it means a lot to you. I'm sure that she is very proud of you and who you've become."

Another small smile from the Cassel.

"You're too kind, Sansa. You don't deserve Joff-"

Edward stopped himself before he could finish the sentence. _Why did I say that?_ He knew he'd said something he shouldn't have, and cringed inwardly, expecting to see a look of shock and anger on Sansa's face. The Stark redhead stood there, hugging her arms, in an effort to comfort herself. Her face was dropped, her gaze on the floor.

Edward released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, desperate to apologise. He instantly walked over to Sansa, and held her arms, hoping it would help. He noticed that she wasn't pulling away, which made him feel a bit more confident in his attempt to seek amends.

"Sansa, I'm so sorry, I really am. Forgive me, I shouldn't have said that."

Sansa raised her head at the touch of Edward's hands on her arms, and looked into his eyes. However, where Edward thought he would see hurt in those sapphire blue pools, he saw only…..

 _Resignation?_

"It's ok. I know what kind of person Joffrey is."

Edward was dumbfounded, so much so that he numbly let go of Sansa's arms, which slightly disappointed the Stark due to the warm touch. He was so confused. He didn't expect Sansa to _agree_ with his views on the Prince, not after the fiasco on the Kingsroad and the fallout at Winterfell. He remembered reaffirming his friendship with Sansa in the tent on the day of the incident, and even then he was sure that she still felt for Joffrey, that she loved him. He even remembered _telling_ her that she had to support the Prince.

Yet, whilst his mind was shocked, his heart was thumping with excitement. For what, he didn't truly know, but he had a good idea of who it was beating for.

Sansa could see the turmoil on Edward's face, and chose to explain her answer.

"You always told me the same thing. That Joffrey's a coward, and cruel, and arrogant. I didn't want to believe it, but I saw it. The arrogance, when he challenged you. The cruelty, when he forced you to fight with a stick. The cowardice, when he lied unconvincingly about what happened….."

As Sansa was speaking, Edward's face changed from confusion to a sort of recognition.

 _She's a clever girl._

"...only, I failed to acknowledge it until we were at the inn, because I didn't want to upset the Queen or the Prince." Sansa's face and gaze returned to the floor, in guilt and shame at the immaturity of her ignorance.

Had it been a few weeks ago, Edward would have said 'I told you so'. However, he had learnt some lessons of his own, and combined with the intense desire he had for Sansa, he decided not to declare a selfish and silly victory. In fact, he had never thought that Sansa would concede her elevated opinion of Joffrey, but the fact that she admitted the truth of the Prince's persona seconds ago had clearly left him stumped.

Amongst all the things he could say, he ended up asking an almost pointless and apathetic question that would have more welcome in the gossip and rumours of fishwives.

"But what about your betrothal? You must still want to be Queen?"

Sansa gave out a big sigh, as if in deliberation of what to do.

"I do, it's all I've ever wanted."

"I sense a 'but' coming."

"But…" Sansa continued with a smirk at Edward's anticipation, before making it vanish, "I don't know if the Prince would make me happy. I'm sure he hates me, he never wants to see me, even when I ask."

Silent tears started making their way down Sansa's cheeks, the rivulets carving a watery path for other tears to follow, as she admitted her new-found fear of her future husband. "I- I'm scared of his temper. I mean, he nearly killed you and Arya! If I have to deal with _that_ , I'm not sure I can marry him-"

Before she could utter another afraid word, she felt lean, strong arms wrapped around her upper back, and her face pressed softly against the chest of her best friend. Whilst Sansa was tall for her age and gender, and still growing, Edward still was taller by a head at least. The scent of peppermint and fresh, forged steel pleasantly infiltrated her nostrils, and helped to calm her breathing, with which she let out a deep breath, realising that she had held it for a short while.

"You have to, Sansa. You have to marry the Prince. The King and Queen would be angered if it was called off."

Edward never, in his wildest dreams, thought that he would have to _convince_ the girl he wanted, to marry someone else, someone whom _both of them_ agreed wasn't right. He could almost _taste_ the irony of it all. But then again, he never thought he would be holding Sansa in his arms, and especially not for this long. Barely even one day in the capital, and already he was wishing they were back at Winterfell, where no southerner could steal her away.

Edward hoped that Sansa couldn't feel his heartbeat, which had picked up immensely due to the intimate hug he was giving her. _All in the name of friendship,_ he told himself hesitantly. Of course, he had seen Sansa in distress and tried to comfort her. Wanting to repay the debt for her comforting him after the fight with Joffrey, he had instinctively hugged her.

Eventually, he reluctantly broke the hug, but not without showing her a reassuring smile, that made her lips curl too.

"I know he's not what you thought he was, and I'm sorry for having to expose that to you. But that's the reality, and I'm sure you see that now. But you are going to have to marry him."

Sansa decided to give a nod in reluctant agreement. However, Edward could see that she was still doubtful, but he also knew that there was no point in trying to further convince her, because he had already been confusing enough, what with his sudden reversal in opinion.

"You should get some sleep, my Lady. I don't want to be the reason for you being tired."

Walking over to the door and opening it, he was stopped by Sansa making a final comment, full of sad hope.

"I wish the Prince was more like you, Edward."

A grateful smile appeared on the Cassel's features, yet his eyes displayed only longing. He knew Lord Stark wouldn't agree to a match between his eldest daughter and the son of a lesser House, but then again, he could always dream.

 _I wish I was the Prince._

"Goodnight, my Lady."

* * *

"It's called Needle."

"Oh, a sword with a name. And who were you hoping to skewer with Needle? Your sister?"

Ned sat with Arya in her chambers, talking to her after the arguing match she'd been having with Sansa all day. Whilst Edward was talking to Sansa, Ned decided to talk to his youngest daughter. He knew that she had been waiting to train with Edward again, but with what happened, he wasn't so sure that it should happen.

After Arya remained silent, he continued.

"Do you know the first thing about sword fighting?"

"Stick 'em with the pointy end."

Ned laughed at the blunt response from Arya.

"Aye ,that's the essence of it."

A brief silence followed, before the young Stark girl, her face changing to somewhat remorseful.

"I was trying to learn." Ned turned his head to face her. "I asked Edward to practice with me. _I_ asked _him_. And he nearly got killed for it. What happened was my fault."

Ned put his arms around Arya, holding her tight only in way a father could.

"No, sweet girl. You didn't do any of that, it was the Prince's fault, you know that. Edward did what he did to _protect_ you, and Sansa. He did his duty."

"I hate them! I hate all of them." Arya loudly admitted. "The King, the Queen and the Prince, and Sansa!"

"Sansa was dragged before the King and Queen," Ned convinced, "and was asked to call the Prince, her future husband, a liar."

"So was I! Edward was too, and we told the truth! He _is_ a liar."

Ned shushed his daughter to quiet things down. He knew that the Prince had lied, and he was already starting to doubt the match that Robert had made. But his honour rose above his feelings, as it always did. He wouldn't separate the betrothal, as he knew the Queen would be vengeful.

"Darling, listen to me. Sansa will be married to Joffrey someday. She cannot betray him. She _must_ take his side, even when he is wrong. Even against Edward, and you."

Arya was confused. She didn't understand why father could _agree_ to let his daughter marry that idiot of a Prince.

"But….. how could you let her marry someone like that? Joffrey doesn't deserve Sansa at all. Sansa deserves someone brave, and kind and strong.""

Ned looked away. He knew that Arya was right. If it was truly down to him, he _would_ have Sansa marry someone brave, and strong, and kind. And the Prince was neither of those traits. Maybe he would have a word with Sansa tomorrow.

Ned could see that Arya was still annoyed at the fact that Sansa was still on Joffrey's side. _If only she knew the importance of family._

"Look at me," Ned said firmly in his deep Northern tones to his daughter, who did as he said, "You're a Stark of Winterfell. You know our words"

"Winter is coming." Arya answered, to which Ned nodded.

"You were born in the long summer. You've never known anything else. But winter is truly coming, and in the winter, we must protect ourselves. Look after one another. Sansa is your _sister._ "

Arya nodded, the words resounding with logic in her head.

"I don't hate her, not really." Arya confessed remorsefully.

"I don't want to frighten you, but I won't lie to you either. We've come to a dangerous place. We cannot fight a war amongst ourselves."

Arya nodded, agreeing with her father's wise words. "I just wish that Sansa could stop believing in all the fairy tales. The Prince is not who she thinks he is."

"I know, sweet child. But she must marry him. The King wanted this match. I cannot disobey his command."

Arya went silent on the matter after that, sulking slightly. Ned looked at Needle, as he held it in his hands. He offered it back to his daughter.

"Go on. It's yours."

Arya's face lit up more when she took her sword.

"I can keep it?"

"Try not to stab your sister with it. I'll see if Edward would still be willing to teach you, but I'll see if I can get another, more professional person to help out as well."

Arya hugged her father, thanking him, as he left her room. She gave one last look at Needle, before sheathing it. She remembered being given it at Winterfell about half a moon ago.

 _I hope Jon's ok._

* * *

"We'll speak when I return."

Jon nodded hesitantly, as Uncle Benjen left him atop the Wall to begin a ranging beyond the giant ice structure. He really wanted to join him, but the First Ranger insisted against it.

And so he stood, looking out into the cold, barren wastelands in front of him, with the Frostfang mountain range decorating the bleak, grey horizon.

At the back of his mind, he hoped that everyone was alright. Robb, and Edward, and Arya, and Bran, who had woken about a day ago, from the raven he received from Winterfell.

Deciding to go back down to Castle Black, Jon sent a silent prayer that his family was safe, and well. He knew it would be quite a long time before he would see any of them again.

* * *

 **Super apologies for this chapter being so long in coming out.**

 **As usual, reviews and stuff are welcome.**

 **Thanks to everyone who is reading this story, and to those who have favourited and followed especially.**

 **So, life in King's Landing is proving to be tough from the start, for all those from the North. Ned is struggling with the lack of interest Robert has in ruling, Edward is struggling with his inner morality about the inevitability of killing, Arya is struggling with her sister, the weather, and just about everything, and Sansa is struggling with the reality of her future husband's true colours.**

 **The scene with Edward and Sansa was the most difficult to be sure, because Edward has had to do a painful thing by encouraging the girl he loves to marry someone he hates, but his honour compels him to. And the thing that is surprising is that Sansa feels similar (about Joffrey), which is** _ **very**_ **early in the story compared to when she actually figures it out, but that's what's happening. We shall see how future interactions with Joffrey and Edward pan out for her.**

 **Not to mention, we also got a little bit of backstory for Edward in that scene, with his mother being mentioned. I put that in to make him seem more flawed, and human, and also because it would strengthen further the relationship he has with Sansa.**

 **However, I did enjoy writing the scene with Cersei and Joffrey. Whilst I kept that scene as accurate to the show (as with the other canon scenes in this chapter) as I could, I put the difference as being that instead of everyone being an enemy, it is mainly the Starks. That's because of Edward, and I loved putting that slight change in. Let me know what you guys think of it, and the chapter in general.**

 **I wanted to put Jon at the end because I don't want to just discard him, he's still thinking of home at this point, and I felt that was a big thing, as further on in the seasons home becomes less immediately relevant to him, due to the Night's Watch commitments.**

 **Last little mention, Edward is struggling with the idea of killing, not because he's scared, but because he's worried that it'll make him emotionless and apathetic to life, basically like what the Hound is like; bitter, resentful, and enjoys killing. That is what he wants to avoid becoming. He doesn't want to kill for no reason, or for a bad motive. But that doesn't mean he's not willing to kill.**

 **I hope you've enjoyed this chapter, there will be more twists and turns to come for sure.**

 _ **Next chapter hint**_ **: Moves are made in the Great Game, fingers are pointed, with the drawing of swords coming ever closer.**

 **Love you all.**

Bobberoo98 :)


	8. Chapter 8 - Revelations and Memories

**A/N: Hey guys, welcome back! So sorry for the huge delay, a lot has been happening, including being emotionally drained by** _ **13 Reasons Why,**_ **but I hope this makes up for it.**

 **Here we have chapter 8! Before we begin, a couple of reviews to be looked at.**

 **Review section:**

CunningSlytherin **: Thank you so much, I'm really glad you liked the chapter, especially the Edward/Sansa scene. With what you said, and with the changes in the story compared to the show, it's hard to know if or when duty might be exchanged for feelings in the case of Edward and Sansa. We'll definitely see, and also how Sansa's deteriorating feelings for Joffrey will impact the scenes they share, and how they react to each other. Thank you, I hope you enjoy!**

InfectedElite **: Thank you, I'm very happy you enjoyed the last chapter, and I hope you enjoy this one!**

 **I've been waiting to release this chapter for a while now, as it does help to explain a lot of backstory, and some little (or big) plot points that will probably be important later on. If there are any inaccuracies with characters or events or anything, either I've changed it slightly, or I've added things in to accommodate the story. Thank you to all of the people who have shown their support for this story, you guys are what keeps this story rolling!**

 **That's all for now, enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

 _Chapter 8 - Revelations and Memories_

 _ **(Winterfell, 5 years after Robert's Rebellion)**_

 _ **Snow fell thick upon the Godswood, covering the ground with a cold blanket of icy white, and landing on the long-frozen pond next to the weirwood tree. Winter was in full swing, though by the maesters of the Citadel's predictions, it would only last for another few months before summer came along again.**_

 _ **However, to the man kneeling in front of the carved face of the Old Gods, none of this mattered one bit. Grey-blue eyes numbly stared down at the ground, greying brown hair slightly swept by the icy breeze, hoping that his desperate prayers would be heard. Although, considering that he had been kneeling and praying for a good hour or so, he hoped that at least one of them would.**_

 _ **Rodrick Cassel stood up, noticing how late in the day it was getting. Jory and Edward would be back from the hunt soon. Although his son was only 3, approaching 4, Rodrick had allowed for him to go with his cousin Jory together with Lord Stark and his two sons, Robb and Jon. He hoped it would provide Edward, and the others, with a good distraction from the sad and grim atmosphere currently permeating Winterfell's halls.**_

 _ **Rodrick couldn't help but constantly think of his wife and mother of his child, bedridden for a week or two, ever since she had gotten a feverish sickness. Being the resilient woman she was, at first she claimed it was simply another cold. Having been married to him and living with him for the past 4 years, he surmised that the North didn't always agree with those from other, slightly warmer climates. This was true for his wife, at least in body instead of mind. Rodrick managed to smile the smallest tad; Alyssa was always a strong, yet kind and open-hearted woman, and a place like the North and Winterfell suited her perfectly.**_

 _ **Rodrick looked again at the weirwood tree in front of him. He remembered saying his marriage vows to her, just over 4 years ago, a beaming smile on his face, surrounded by other Northern Lords, including Lord Stark, and his best friend, Greatjon Umber. In all truth, he never realised a beautiful woman like Alyssa would choose him over other, younger, and more handsome suitors. He was so happy and grateful to be marrying the woman of his dreams. But the thing he remembered most, was that his wife had an identical smile on her face, showing him that she loved him as much as he did to her.**_

 _ **A small grin managed to worm its way onto Rodrick's face at the memory. At least he could find some respite from the worry and fear that clawed his nerves constantly.**_

 _ **The crunch of feet on snow indicated the presence of another. Rodrick turned his head to gaze upon the red-haired, and very tired-looking, Catelyn Stark, carrying in her arms a heavily blanketed and sleeping Sansa.**_

" _ **My lady," Rodrick addressed as warmly as he could, whilst bowing his head in respect.**_

 _ **Catelyn averted her gaze from Rodrick, saddened and unwilling to tell him, but forced herself to look him in the eyes. As soon as her blue pools met with Rodrick's grey, the Master-at-Arms' small smile dropped instantly.**_

* * *

 _ **Rodrick burst into the bedroom, his eyes widened by intense fear at what he would see. Maids stood around the double bed, cloths and medical supplies on small tables and desks behind them, meant for the occupant of the bed who had troubled Rodrick for so long. A roaring fire blazed in the hearth at the right of the room, casting its warmth to the people inside. Upon his entrance, the maids left the room, leaving Rodrick alone with his ill wife.**_

 _ **Rodrick, despite the fire, felt cold, his small steps heavy with invisible weights as he slowly made his way over to where his wife lay. Kneeling down beside the left side of the bed, he could see Alyssa's condition had worsened, as she lay there in a feverish sleep, her eyelids closed, yet faint whimpering could be heard from the ragged breaths she gave out. A light sheen of sweat covered her skin, which was a red colour, indicating her body heat was immensely high, due to the damned fever. Her normally luscious black hair was greasy from days without wash, and her bangs which normally covered her forehead was now stuck to it with sweat. Despite her condition, Rodrick agreed to himself, she was still a vision of beauty in his eyes.**_

 _ **Rodrick reached for and gently took his wife's right hand in both of his, which stirred Alyssa to almost painfully open her eyes, searching for whoever had woken her. Her soft, kind, hazel green-brown eyes hazily rested upon her husband, who was trying with every fibre of his being not to break down in tears.**_

 _ **"** Ñuha jorrāelagon_ _ **... My love…..." Alyssa managed to say, with barely hidden effort clear in her now hoarse and weak voice.**_

 _ **A single tear finally did make its way down Rodrick's cheek, as the extent of her pain was clear to him. However, this did not stop him from poking a little fun at his Braavosi wife's use of Valyrian, her mother tongue, since it was rare for her to use it nowadays, due to the usefulness of it in the North being practically zero. Still, Rodrick knew some basic phrases, including the one she spoke, since he was with his wife almost every day.**_

" _ **You must be feeling bad if you're speaking in Valyrian, love." Rodrick's deep Northern voice slightly cracked as he forced a smile whilst he spoke. However as soon as he finished his sentence, his smile faded, leaving an emotional silence covering the room for a few, drawn out seconds.**_

 _ **It was broken when Alyssa groaned as she tilted her head to properly face Rodrick, who slightly squeezed her hand as a show of support. He could see her chest rise and fall with shallow breaths, each one eliciting a ragged sound from her.**_

 _ **Struggling with the effort to form coherent sentences, Alyssa could only manage a few words with each shallow breath she took.**_

" _ **Edward….. Look after him…. He is**_ _tolī ābrītsos_ _ **… too young, to understand…."**_

 _ **Tears now successfully streaming down his cheeks, Rodrick nodded slowly at first, before nodding more surely, vowing to do as his wife said.**_

" _Kirimvose_ _ **… Thank you…. You are a good man Rodrick, a good father….."**_

 _ **Alyssa's eyes moved to gaze at an envelope, a letter sitting upon the dresser beside Rodrick, a silent command to pick it up, which he did.**_

" _ **My final goodbye to him. Let him read it when he is older, when he is ready…."**_

" _ **I will, my love. I'll give it to him when he's older. When he understands. I'll keep it safe, I promise."**_

 _ **Rodrick could feel his wife's hand loosening its grip on his. He kept it in place with his other hand, tightly gripping it, willing her to strengthen, though knowing, and refusing to believe, that she wouldn't be.**_

 _ **Alyssa focused her eyes on Rodrick's as best she could, hazel meeting grey-blue.**_

" _ **Tell him I love him, Rodrick," Alyssa's voice growing weaker, more tired as she spoke, almost into a whisper, her Braavosi accent rolling the 'r's in his name. "Tell him I will always be there….."**_

 _ **Rodrick nodded again, a silent promise to do so. His words afterwards betrayed his desperation for Alyssa to live, shrinking into a whisper.**_

" _ **Please, my love, please don't go….. You can't…"**_

 _ **Mustering her remaining strength, Alyssa Cassel gently stroked Rodrick's tear-soaked cheek with her dainty hand, calming her husband for just the smallest moment. Speaking as calmly and as smoothly as she could, she smiled what would be her last smile, one full of happiness and love, her hazel eyes glinting with the kindness that was her signature trait.**_

" _ **It's alright, my love…... I will see you again. My family….. We would always say to death, 'not today'. But it is my time…. My day….. and to death I say….**_ _valar morghulis_ _ **….."**_

 _ **Rodrick felt his wife's hand go limp in his grasp, her life and strength gone. Her eyes glazed over, staring into nothing, her eyelids half closed. Her chest no longer rose or fell, her last breath having been taken.**_

 _ **Rodrick simply stared at Alyssa, his eyes wide with grief. Looking down at the hand he held, realising that his beautiful wife had passed, he shut his eyes as he kissed her hand, tears now fully flowing.**_

 _ **Failing to hold back body-wracking sobs, he gently closed Alyssa's eyes shut forever, and kissed her forehead, a final goodbye to the only woman who held his heart.**_

* * *

( **King's Landing, present day** )

The sun was setting, casting rays of deep golden light across many of the taller buildings in King's Landing, people already having headed home for the day. The streets were empty, a good thing when sneaking out of the city's back gates.

Ser Rodrick felt the slight roughness of old parchment against his right palm. He stood there, waiting for Lord and Lady Stark to finish their goodbyes, but ultimately had his attention on his son, standing at ease along with Jory behind Lord Stark. In truth, he was nervous and somewhat reluctant to hand over the only reminder of his precious wife.

Upon Lady Stark's decision to ride to King's Landing to discern the plotters behind the attempted assassination of young Bran Stark, who was now awake, yet destined to be crippled permanently, Ser Rodrick had decided to accompany her, to keep her safe. Even though the meeting with Littlefinger had made his skin crawl. A snake of a man who still loved Catelyn, though she would never reciprocate his feelings, not ever. But still, they found out the owner of the blade used in the attempt; Tyrion Lannister, who was returning from visiting the Wall.

However, the trip to King's Landing meant that he would see Edward again, and after weeks of deliberation and thought, he deemed the time right to fully tell his son of his mother, who she was, where she came from. Besides, he knew he couldn't grieve forever. 13 years was still a long time.

Lord and Lady Stark embraced, their farewells given. Rodrick took this opportunity to approach the two, to ask permission. He knew he didn't have to, but being the humble and honourable man he was, he felt it was only right to do so.

"My Lord, my Lady…." Rodrick addressed, clutching the necklace and sealed letter tightly.

"Yes, Rodrick?" Lord Stark questioned, curious as to why one of his closest friends was behaving so nervously. This was, until he spotted the object he was holding. Instantly recognising what it was, Ned gave a brief, yet understanding nod to his friend. Ned called over Edward, who did as asked, before leaving him with his father.

"Father, what's going on?" Edward questioned, his newly cut hair lazily waving in the mild evening breeze, his face free of any stubble, after a close shave. Truthfully, he was confused as to why his father looked like he was going to burst into tears.

Rodrick took a deep breath. After all these years, it was still hard for him, but he knew he needed to do this. He looked his son straight in the eyes, emotion pouring out of his. _He has his mother's eyes._

"Edward…. I've been meaning to do this for a while, but….. I never felt the time was right."

Seeing his father so emotionally fragile, Edward nearly scoffed out of confusion, but remained silent, his hazel eyes instead portraying his lack of understanding of the situation. Rodrick saw this, and hesitantly, he took his son's right hand, and carefully placed the envelope in it, as if it was the most sacred thing in the world.

"Son, I can't put into words how special this letter is."

Edward took in his father's words, before staring at the letter, noticing that it was slightly heavier than he would expect an envelope containing a letter to be, before finally questioning Rodrick.

"Father, what's going on? Why have you given me this?"

Rodrick simply responded by placing his now empty right hand on Edward's shoulder, again choosing to look into his son's brown-green eyes.

"Edward…. The letter was written by your mother. It… was meant for you."

Edward's head imploded like wildfire at the revelation, his eyes wide and constantly darting between the objects he held and his father, even looking to Lord and Lady Stark, who wore bittersweet emotions on their faces.

"I… I…. What?" was all the young Cassel managed to get out, such was his disbelief at what he had found out. Small tears started to spring in his eyes, at the prospect of finally having precious answers to questions that had been pent up inside him for years.

"I, uh, just wanted to apologise." Rodrick spoke, tears of his own starting to show due to the emotion of the occasion.

"For what? Father, there's nothing to be sorry for." Edward iterated, a smile starting to show in confused response to Rodrick's apology.

"There is, my son. I should have told you about your mother years ago, but I held on to this letter because….." Rodrick stopped himself to clear his throat, his voice cracking. "Because I couldn't let go of her. For that, I'm sor-"

Rodrick was stopped from finishing his sentence by Edward, who wrapped his arms around his father in a big hug, his eyes now slightly pink from the tears falling down his cheeks.

"I forgive you, father. Don't ever feel bad for holding on to her memory. I would never, ever hold anything like that against you."

Parting from the hug, Rodrick managed to give a smile full of warmth to his son, who wore a similar grin as he looked down at the letter in his hands.

"She loved you dearly, don't ever forget that."

"I won't, father."

It was Rodrick's turn to look at the letter, as he wiped some stray tears away. "I haven't looked at it. But I hope it explains everything, and answers the questions you may have."

Edward looked up to his father, a solemn, searching look in his hazel eyes. "Can I ask you one? I-I don't think it will be answered in this letter..."

"Of course, son."

Edward took his time before asking, anxiety yet seriousness showing in his tones. "What did she look like?"

Edward saw his father wistfully smile at the question, his eyes softening and staring at an invisible point behind him, remembering every single feature that his wife possessed, as if she were standing right in front of him.

"She was beautiful. Long, black hair that you loved to play with when you were just a baby…."

Edward thought back to the distant, hazed memory of brushing his mother's hair, and smiled upon confirmation that he remembered her. He turned his attention back to his father's description of his mother.

"...you have her eyes. They could light up a room, they were that pretty. But the most beautiful thing about her was her smile, and her kindness. You may have my colour hair, and you may be a Northerner, but you have her eyes, her smile, and her compassion. I know she'd be so proud of who you are, son."

Rodrick sniffed, blocking any more heartfelt tears from falling, and turned his gaze to Lord and Lady Stark, who now wore warm gazes on their features.

"I should go. It's getting dark." Rodrick said, that familiar Northern hardness returning to his voice and face.

Edward nodded in agreement, looking down at the letter, which he knew he'd read as soon as possible. He gave one final hug to his father, before watching as he rode alongside Lady Stark to the city exit. A surge of emotion flowed through him at the knowledge that his father, despite sometimes being as stubborn and cold as the North itself, was a man who had loved, and still did.

"Thank you, father." Edward whispered, sincerity pouring out of his grateful words.

* * *

The small trip back to the Red Keep couldn't have taken longer for Edward, who clutched on to his mother's letter as if it was the only thing keeping him alive. Spurring on his horse to go as quickly as a gentle trot could, he eventually disembarked along with Lord Stark and Jory, who was unusually quiet about his younger cousin's clear and impatient excitement. Perhaps it was due to memories, reasoned Edward. After all, Jory probably remembered his mother's death, and such memories were unwanted.

The closer Edward got to the guard barracks, and to his room, the more nervous he got, his legs filled with renewed strength at the prospect of the letter he held. As soon as he entered his small, spartan room, filled with nothing more than a small bed, a stool and tiny set of drawers next to it, he lit a candle and sat on the end of his bed, staring down at the slightly rough envelope, containing precious words that had waited so long to be read. The envelope felt heavy in his hands, and at the back of his mind he noticed that there was probably something else inside.

His fingers now shaking, Edward took a deep breath to temporarily stave off the pure adrenaline rushing through his system, and opened it, taking immense care to slowly rip the envelope and obtain the letter inside.

Edward tentatively prised the letter from the envelope. The paper was old, he could tell, judging by the darker colouration of the parchment round the edges, and the crease lines of the parchment itself being in one straight line, yet judging by the way it naturally folded when held, indicated the years had made such creases as natural as the paper itself.

However, the young Cassel didn't really care, instead focusing his attention to the very neat and cursive words that took up the large piece of parchment. The handwriting was very familiar to that of Sansa's, Edward noted, concluding that such writing was undoubtedly originated from a woman. His mother.

Taking another deep, shaky breath that did nothing to calm the adrenaline in his arms and hands, yet steeled himself for the information and answers he had _craved_ for most of his life, Edward carefully read the letter, scrutinising every well-written word like a general inspecting his soldiers. He almost couldn't believe that he was reading it, yet he took in every word as if they were as valuable as gemstones:

 _My dearest and beloved Edward,_

 _By the time you are reading this, however long it has been, I will not be there for you, as my time will have come to pass from this world. I wish I could be there for you, my son. I understand if your father has chosen to keep this letter from you until you are old enough to understand. No doubt, you are clearly ready to know about me if you are reading this, I hope you understand too._

 _I am sure that you have many questions as to who I am, where I came from, and to the manner of how I met your father. I shall answer them for you, to give you peace of mind, and for you to learn about me, as you were but a little boy when my time came to leave you and your father._

 _This may be a surprise to you, my son, but I did not originally come from Westeros, as you might think. I was born and raised in the Free City of Braavos, as part of a noble family who had found fortune and wealth through banking. I grew up in a modest household for a family of our stature, alongside my parents, and my younger brother, learning arts such as singing, the harp, as well as learning to speak the Common Tongue in addition to my native Valyrian. Like you, my mother died when I was barely two years old, of a sickness caught after giving birth to my little brother. Needless to say, our father was devastated. It was not until I was twenty and my brother eighteen that our father spoke of her openly. I vowed then that if ever I were to have children of my own, no matter what happened to me, my children would know who I was._

 _I left home approaching my twenty-eighth nameday, whilst my brother stayed in the city to become the First Sword to the Sealord of Braavos. I eventually found a home at White Harbour, in the North. It was there that I met your father, Rodrick. By the time we first met, I already had a number of suitors from all over the Free Cities, and even parts of Westeros, yet none of them charmed me like your father did. He was honest, and whilst he was a typical Northern warrior, he was good-hearted and kind. I fell for him, and he fell for me. We agreed to marry before winter came, and the heavy snows fell._

 _However, my beloved Edward, these were dangerous times, and soon my husband-to-be was called to war, to fight against the Mad King Aerys. But thankfully, he returned home, and we married in the Godswood at Winterfell a year later, whereupon I discovered I was with child, and not even a year after that, you came into the world, crying and screaming and kicking like the Northern warrior you are._

 _I am sorry, my son, I am so sorry for not being able to be there with you now. I know this letter is worthless compared to the physical presence of being by your side, and I hope that you will be able to continue on and be strong like the person I know you are. My death could not be prevented, my love, but it is as natural as the wind that blows through the sky, or the snow that falls in Winterfell._

 _Whilst nothing can compare to physically being there to watch you learn to swordfight, or ride a horse, I hope that my words will suffice, along with a gift that is meant for you, my son. Inside the envelope, you will find a necklace, a pendant that I have worn and my father before me. This pendant has been possessed by my family for hundreds and hundreds of years, passed down to the eldest child, to keep them safe. I now give this to you, my son. Let it keep you from harm, and bring you luck in charming a beautiful noble lady to be your bride. But most of all, my wonderful, handsome Edward, let it be an eternal reminder of my undying love for you._

 _Love, forever and always,_

 _Alyssa Cassel._

 _P.S. On the back of the pendant, are my family's words. Translate it if you can. Any son of mine should know at least some_ _Valyrian phrases. Knowing another language will_ definitely _impress the ladies._

Edward finished reading the letter, suddenly feeling drained, due to the lack of adrenaline in his system and the sheer emotional ride of reading the letter itself. A small chuckle emanated from him at the note at the bottom at the knowledge that his mother had a good sense of humour. Amusement turned to surprise at the discovery of his mother's bloodline. In all honesty, Edward hadn't even thought about where his mother had come from. He had always assumed she was a Northerner.

Reading through the letter again, the young Cassel decided to look into the envelope to find the necklace that belonged to his mother's family, discarded by his right side. Reasoning that the strange weight of the letter was down to the necklace described in the letter itself, Edward fingered through the envelope once more, the tips of his fingers contacting with something cool, and metal. Pulling it out of the ripped envelope, Edward held the necklace in front of him, revelling in the beauty of such a piece of jewellery.

A short, thin silver linked chain was connected by a small, solid pendant, made of shining steel. Studded into the middle of the pendant, was a small, yet beautiful ruby, the many edges and fractals of the gem reflecting light from the candlelight beside him. He turned the pendant over, to find a tiny Valyrian phrase inscribed into the metal: _'Kustikāne hen pazavorve'._

 _So these are the words of my mother's family,_ Edward mused to himself. _Perhaps I should ask around about any books that might be able to translate it, like my mother asked of me_.

Edward sat there in silence for what felt like ages, staring at the necklace, hypnotised by its simplistic and elegant beauty. Holding the linked chain, he hung the pendant in the air, inspecting every facet of the majestically cut ruby in the centre. Deciding he was done with gawking over the necklace, he decided to put it on, slipping it beneath his undershirt, enjoying the cool touch of the pendant against his bare chest.

Before Edward slept that night, he silently but sincerely thanked his mother for such a gift, and inwardly lamented to himself that he had never had the fortune of a mother's love. An ironic and wry smile crossed his face, as he acknowledged that must be how Jon felt, every day.

* * *

Ned sat in his solar in the Tower of the Hand, struggling to fight off a yawn. He'd been unable to sleep very much last night, his thoughts plagued by worry and stress. Of course, he'd always been worried and stressed; being Warden of the North did that. But he was even more fearful than normal. In the days and weeks since arriving in King's Landing, the new-found knowledge that Robert had no interest in governing the Seven Kingdoms, proven by his unwillingness to attend Small Council meetings, along with the secret rendevous with Catelyn a week ago about Bran's botched assassination, had left him feeling almost sick with stress. Despite the hidden chaos, Ned had come to one conclusion: the Lannisters were behind both issues. Namely, Queen Cersei.

Ever since the Kingsroad incident, ever since seeing the hold that Cersei had on Robert, in forcing him to change his mind on letting Edward go, a decision that made no sense whatsoever, had changed the way he saw his old friend. It was now clear to Ned, that Robert wasn't the same man that he fought beside in his rebellion and the crushing of the Greyjoys all those years ago.

Earlier that day, he went to talk to his King about such issues, hoping that his trusted friend was still there inside. However, it seemed the only thing inside Robert was a lot of wine, as he spent his time drinking until he could barely form coherent sentences. Seeing that his time was wasted trying to persuade Robert to start properly ruling, Ned left for his solar, to think and contemplate.

Of course, there was still the matter of the Tourney of the Hand, such an occasion that Ned didn't even want in the first place, seeing it as unnecessary and too expensive. Yet, Robert had insisted on staging it, and Ned being himself, could not argue. Furthermore, whilst his daughters had seemingly made their peace, Ned noticed that Arya was still agitated, most likely about her training with Edward, which hadn't been happening due to his Vice-Captain's duties and the fact that nobody had responded to ravens he had sent out, asking for an experienced swordsman to help supervise and train Arya along with Edward, when he was available.

Sansa looked to have settled in nicely to life in the capital, as Ned had expected for her, looking like a Southern Lady in all but name, even going as far as to style her hair in the fashion as most ladies wore in King's Landing. However, even he could see that his eldest daughter wasn't sleeping well; dark circles hung under her eyes, and recently she was more irritated when it came to trivial things such as dinner, and conversing with her septa and sister, as she either snapped at them or ignored them entirely. In the back of his mind, Ned wondered whether the Prince was a part of the reason why Sansa was feeling so moody. Perhaps taking her to the Tourney in a few days time would help her to relax somewhat and enjoy looking upon all the fine knights she had grown up thinking of.

A brief series of knocks on the door alerted Ned back to his surroundings. A visitor.

"Come in."

The door opened, Jory appearing from the other side. "Someone here to see you, my Lord. He says he's here about some sort of training."

 _Finally,_ Ned thought to himself, relieved. "Send him in."

Jory nodded to someone invisible behind the door, granting them entrance. Ned stood from behind his desk, waiting to greet the mystery person. In stepped a relatively short man, just below six foot, yet his posture and gait seemed to ooze a sort of confidence that Ned was sure was justified. Short, grey and black curls adorned his head, with an equally grey/black beard of stubble across his jaw. Ned knew a soldier when he saw one, yet he could tell that by this man's hazel brown eyes, he wasn't as rigid as he knew men of military could be. He gestured for the man to sit, which he did.

"Welcome to King's Landing. I am Eddard Stark-"

"Hand of the King, Lord of Winterfell. I know who you are, Lord Stark." The short man interrupted, but gave a brief smile of apology for it. Ned continued.

"To whom do I have to pleasure of speaking to?"

The man smiled warmly. "Forgive my manners, my Lord Hand. I am Syrio Forel, former First Sword to the Sealord of Braavos." Syrio gave a deep bow, to which Ned bowed his head in response.

"I take it you are here about the sword instructor position in my household, Lord Forel?"

Syrio gave a small chuckle, before answering, his Braavosi accent easily distinguishable. "Please, Lord Stark, I do not possess such a title. My father was not a lord, he was but a humble banker. If it please you, you may simply call me Syrio. And yes, I am here about such a position, if you are willing to take me."

"Very well Lor- Syrio. Do you have any questions about your position at all?"

Syrio chose this moment to almost examine the desk that Ned sat behind, hazel eyes scrutinising the amounts of paperwork strewn about, before answering.

"Just one, my Lord. Who will I be teaching? Your men?"

It was Ned's turn to give a small chuckle at Syrio's joke. "No, you'll be training my daughter, Arya."

"Ah, so the little girl wishes to fight, does she? That is perfectly fine, my Lord. Has she had previous instructors before myself?"

"Aye, at the moment the Vice Captain of my Guard is currently teaching her the basics. However, with his duties and little experience himself-"

"Forgive my intrusion, my Lord, but how is it that your Vice Captain lacks experience? Surely he would not be in his position if he had little experience?"

Ned nodded in understanding of the question. "Edward Cassel is the newest and youngest member of my Guard at 16. Whilst I assure to you that he is wiser and more skilled beyond his years with a sword, I thought that bringing in someone older and far more knowledgeable would benefit both my daughter and himself."

Ned's answer caused the Braavosi to nod, accepting the reasoning. However, his eyes were darting across the room, as if he was trying to remember something. Almost as soon as Ned noticed it, the look was gone. Dismissing it, Ned stood again, offering his hand.

"Syrio Forel, I gladly give you the position as my daughter's sword instructor. When would you like to start?"

* * *

Edward felt the cool metal of the ruby pendant press against his chest underneath his clothes and studded leather armour, as he waited outside Arya's chambers to take her to a secluded area of the Red Keep where they could finally begin training again. It was a relief to hear from Lord Stark that his sessions with the little Lady could continue; partially out of the fear that, after the Kingsroad, he would stop them, but also because guard shifts, whilst necessary, were so goddamn _boring_. Having the opportunity to teach Arya and let off a little steam himself would be very much needed.

That wasn't to say that having spars every now and again with other members of the household guard, including Jory, wasn't fun, but whilst his cousin was normally occupied with his duties and generally being serious, spending time with his second-favourite Stark allowed for good gossip and conversations, normally about the frustrations that Arya was experiencing daily. Edward enjoyed seeing Arya so wound up, as he knew for a fact that Lady Catelyn would not approve one bit, but he wasn't one to judge.

Fiddling absentmindedly with the linked chain of the necklace around his neck, as he waited for Arya to presumably find some clothes that would be comfortable enough to fight in. Ever since a week ago, when he had read the letter that his mother had written for him, he had kept the letter under his pillow in his room. A fairly obvious place to hide something, yes, but at least he knew where it was. The necklace, on the other hand, he had taken to wearing, as a promise to his mother to always keep her around in spirit, and in the hope that it would bring him luck in his life.

The Valyrian phrase on the back of the pendant, Alyssa's family words as he remembered correctly, still eluded translation. Edward had thought of going to the library to search out any old books that could help, but he hadn't bothered, especially since Grand Maester Pycelle seemed to basically live in that place, and whilst Maester's were generally considered wise and serving, this one seemed only to serve the Lannisters, if the young Cassel remembered his studies of the Sack of King's Landing well. He didn't sit well with the Vice Captain. Besides, any books of Valyrian text would probably not be there anyway.

Arya's door opened, and the little Stark appeared, looking almost like a commoner with the ragged clothes she wore. Edward took one look, and with a smirk on his handsome features, opened his mouth to say something, but Arya gave a venomous glare as a warning not to. Edward decided not to question her choice of attire, instead silently beckoning his friend to follow.

Edward had already shown the cosy yet fairly spacious courtyard/room earlier to Arya, so she would know where to go in case he wasn't the first to be there for training. However, when the two arrived there, they found that they weren't the only ones.

The setting sun shining its fading rays of light into the room, and with a gentle cool breeze drifting in from Blackwater Bay, stood a man, shorter than Edward would expect, and with greying hair that formed in curls on his head, standing with his back to them, yet a slight turn of his head indicated their presence was heard. Two wooden swords were held in the man's hands behind his back, not unlike ones that Edward used with Robb and Jon at Winterfell when they were younger.

"You, are late, boys." A commanding voice came from the man, who still held his back to Edward and Arya. "Tomorrow you will both be here at midday."

The man turned around, revealing himself. A equally greying beard, yet still dark, sat upon his jaw, his hazel eyes looking between the two. Arya spoke up, confused, as was Edward.

"Who are you?"

The man flipped the swords in both of his hands, spinning them around with effortless ease. A warm, excited smile spread on his face. "Your dancing master."

Edward could clearly hear a foreign accent in the man's voice. _Perhaps he's from Essos._ Dismissing the thought, he asked a question that resonated with Arya as well.

"Why are you here, ser….?"

"I am no 'ser', boy. I am Syrio Forel, sent by Lord Eddard to help with your training of the little one." Syrio surprisingly threw one of the wooden swords in the direction of Arya, who grasped at it but couldn't catch it as it fell to the floor.

"Tomorrow, you will catch it." Syrio said matter-of-factly, as he caught Edward's eyes. The Cassel couldn't help but wonder why Lord Stark had brought in another teacher, when he said himself that he was suitable to be teaching Arya?

"I'm sorry, Syrio, but didn't Lord Stark tell you that Lady Arya was being trained by me?"

Another smile from Syrio. "He did, Edward Cassel. He told me that a more experienced instructor would be needed for more experienced training. I am here to help you just as much as the little one here." The mention of Arya being called 'little' caused her to swing the wooden sword haphazardly in the direction of Syrio, who effortlessly dodged as if he wasn't there in the first place.

Turning his attention to Arya, he shook his head slowly in disappointment at her handling of the sword. "That is not the way, boy. This is not a greatsword that is needing two hands to swing it."

Reluctantly, Arya gripped the sword in her favoured left hand, her face grimacing as the weight of the sword was heavier than she liked. "It's too heavy." the little Stark complained.

Edward, a little annoyed that he wasn't able to be a part of the lesson, cut in. "It's as heavy as it needs to be, little Lady, to make you strong."

"I agree," Syrio chimed, before his gaze went to Edward, almost as if he was inspecting him. "Take off your armour, boy. I wish to see you show the little one how one grips the sword correctly, and gets into the proper stance."

Edward's eyes darted between Arya and Syrio in confusion, before hesitantly removing the leather armour, leaving only his undershirt and trousers worn. Unsheathing his own, metal sword, from the belt he had taken off, he firmly held it with one hand lifting it up and down and swinging it around lightly to show his ease at holding it. Syrio looked at Arya and pointed at Edward to make his point.

"You see, child? Edward has been training for years, and wielding a sword has made him strong. You shall become strong too, if you choose to hold it properly. One hand is all that is needed."

Edward sheathed his sword, now regarding this Syrio Forel with curiosity. Clearly Lord Stark wouldn't have appointed this man if he wasn't experienced. In the back of his mind, he vaguely wondered if he knew what the phrase on his pendant meant, since his voice was evidently not from Westeros, but pushed the thought aside. That could be answered another day. Edward brought his attention back to the scene unfolding in front of him. Syrio was making Arya turn sidewards to show her a correct stance, but in Edward's mind it didn't look right at all.

"Excuse me, Syrio, but how is that a correct stance?"

Syrio simply smiled again, as if it was a game. "This is the correct stance, boy-"

"I'm not a boy." Edward interrupted, increasingly annoyed at Syrio's title for him.

"Lord Stark said you are only 16. And I don't hear how Edward Cassel has fought any battles, or slain great knights, or laid with any beautiful girls," the last example sent a blush into Edward's cheeks, with a particular redhead subconsciously coming to the fore of his mind, as Syrio spoke, or better yet, admonished the Cassel. "So, you are but a boy. Otherwise, why would you need me? 9 years, Syrio Forel was First Sword to the Sealord of Braavos, he knows these things, boy."

"You're from Braavos?" Edward asked, suddenly intrigued, eager to know more. _Perhaps he knew my mother_.

Syrio simply shrugged, uninterested. "I am, why do you ask, boy?"

"It's just… my mother was Braavosi."

This seemed to pique Syrio's interest, as a similarly intrigued glint appeared in his eyes, suddenly inspecting Edward again, as if he was someone of importance. "Was she now? What was her name?"

Edward opened his mouth to answer, but footsteps from near him caused the occupants of the room to discover who it was.

"How are we coming along, Syrio?" Ned Stark's deep voice rung slightly through the room.

Syrio smiled again. "We are getting there, my Lord. It seems that Edward is of good usefulness to the training."

"Good to hear. Keep it up both of you." Ned encouraged warmly as he leant against the doorframe to observe. Syrio turned his attention back to the lesson at hand, pointing at Arya.

"Syrio needs your sword, child. Watch and observe as Edward and I spar, and pay close attention to our grip and footing."

Arya gave her sword to Syrio, who handed it to Edward, who mused to himself that all Arya seemed to do was sit and watch.

"Now then, boy, this is not the dance of the Westerosi we are learning, hacking and hammering! This," Syrio swung his sword through the air with such grace and fluidity, "is the Braavos dance, the water dance."

Edward nodded in understanding, before getting into a stance, his sword in his favoured right hand. "If it helps, people say that my fighting style is like Water Dancers."

Syrio smiled again, this time, with a more predatory look. "Then let us see if those claims are true, Edward Cassel."

Edward, never one to back down from a challenge, lunged quickly at Syrio, who glided away from the attack, before using his momentum to jab at Edward's abdomen. Luckily for the Cassel, Edward pivoted sharply away from Syrio's clever counter. The Braavosi nodded, seemingly impressed.

"Perhaps these people are not wrong, boy. Come at me again, if you dare."

Syrio's almost exaggerated challenge caused all Northerners to smile in humour. Ned, in particular, wore a smile that was very rare to see, as he spectated a rather amusing yet interesting spar between Edward and Syrio. It was the Braavosi that got the more hits on Edward over time, but the Cassel wasn't exempt from landing some clever blows himself, each time earning approval from his opponent.

This continued for a while longer, as Ned watched the two attack, and counterattack, all whilst Arya observed with eagerness to join, which she did, after a few more minutes of sparring. However, Ned couldn't help but muse to himself how alike Edward was to his father in terms of fighting appearance. In fact, if he hadn't have known better, he could have sworn it was Rodrick fighting in front of him, a determination and surprising agility for a man his age, clearly replicated in his son.

It was almost _too_ real. Ned realised what was happening, and his smile dropped instantly.

Ned took a deep breath in an attempt to stop the flashback, his nerves spiking in fear, and his eyes widening at what was happening. The clattering of wooden swords in front of him morphed into the clashing of steel, and the determined grunts and panting of the two combatants changed into the shouts and crying of dying soldiers, and the screams of war bellowing in his ears. Desperate to halt the hallucinogenic visions of past memories, Ned screwed his eyes shut, but couldn't stop them from seeing the crashing of waves against a stormy sky, nor could he stop the events of nearly a decade ago from assaulting his mind.

* * *

 _ **(The cliffs of Harlaw, largest isle of the Iron Islands, during the Greyjoy Rebellion, 8 years ago)**_

 _ **Ned fidgeted with the pommel of his sword, grasping and releasing the hilt every so often to try and keep his thoughts occupied as the ship he was on, alongside about 9 others, slowly made their way through the choppy seas of the Iron Islands.**_

 _ **The campaign to crush the stupid uprising of the Greyjoys had lasted just over a month, which was longer than Ned expected for it to be, considering his friend and King, Robert, had brought almost all the combined strength of the Seven Kingdoms to drive back the ironborn raiders and stop any notion of independence from growing further. Although it really wasn't that surprising that the counter-invasion of the Iron Islands had taken so long to form, Ned reasoned as he stared ahead to the grey cliffs of Harlaw, the largest of the Iron Islands and home to House Harlaw, an ancient ironborn family stretching back to the times before Aegon's Conquest. The Iron Fleet, led by one of Balon Greyjoy's eldest sons, burned the entire Lannister fleet whilst it lay at anchor in Lannisport, meaning that it had taken about 2 whole weeks for Stannis Baratheon to assemble the Royal Fleet and sail round Dorne in order to simply put up a fight.**_

 _ **However, this meant that the ironborn had time to mount successful small invasions onto mainland Westeros, raiding key ports nearest to the Iron Islands, specifically that of Seaguard, the only major port of the Riverlands and home of their meagre fleet. They even managed to hold the large castle and town, that was, until Ned had ridden in just in the nick of time with his 20,000 strong Northern army, and re-taken Seaguard. That, combined with a hugely important naval victory for Stannis Baratheon a few days later, against the Iron Fleet just off the Westerlands, decimating the ironborn ships and killing one of the Greyjoy sons, had sent the raiders retreating back to their shores to begin defense of the Iron Islands.**_

 _ **That was a week ago. No doubt the ironborn had finished barricading every single door in their castles, and had set up what remained of their forces to defend every inch of their godforsaken islands. That was why Ned felt so anxious as he stood at the front of the ship, gazing at the isle of Harlaw with barely hidden fear as the grey cliffs edged closer and closer towards him.**_

 _ **Whilst Pyke was no doubt the island that needed to be taken in order to claim victory, it didn't mean that it was the only island that needed to fall. Great and Old Wyk stood as the great strongholds that held many of the ironborn soldiers, and so they had to be taken, but it was almost impossible to assault without having a foothold on any of the other isles. Hence, why Ned had been sent by Robert to take the isle of Harlaw. If they managed to capture Ten Towers, the great castle that housed the House of Harlaw, then they would be able to use that as the anchor to invade the rest of the Iron Islands, instead of having to use Seagard as the base of operations.**_

 _ **Stormy, grey skies were spread like a blanket over Ned's Northern fleet. 10 ships, the Warden of the North had chosen to take, handpicking the most capable and experienced men to accompany him. Mostly this comprised of Karstarks, Mormonts, and Glovers, known for their loyalty and ferocity in battle, as well as their ability to build good ships, since they were located along the coast, or, in the case of House Mormont, on an island of their own. The ships that Ned decided to take were made of solid and sturdy ironwood, crafted near Deepwood Motte. It would be very tough to destroy these vessels. Overall, the men he brought with him amounted to about 1000. Relatively small, but the mission before them needed such numbers, if they were to succeed.**_

 _ **Ned heard footsteps approaching him, before stopping by his side. He turned his head to see who had joined him. Thankfully, it was a familiar face.**_

" _ **The men are prepared, my Lord. They await your orders for the mission." Rodrick Cassel spoke, hardness illustrating his words, a small grimace permanently planted on his features. Ned sighed inside. Ever since his wife's death, Rodrick had not been the same. 4 years had passed, and yet his closest friend had refused to let it go, to move on.**_

 _ **Ned put that to the back of his mind. He had a war to fight. First, the landing on Harlaw. Ned's stomach twisted into several knots at the prospect of it, imagining Harlaw warriors rushing at them when they were most vulnerable. Ned sent a silent prayer to the Old Gods to keep him safe.**_

 _ **(1 hour later)**_

 _ **Surprisingly, the landing had gone as smoothly as possible. All ships landed with no ironborn in sight. The pebbly beach, to the north of Ten Towers, that Ned and his forces had chosen to ground upon seemed to be a lucky one, with no resistance at all to greet them. However, as the 1000 Northmen trudged onto the beach, making as little noise as possible, Ned couldn't help but feel extremely exposed, and vulnerable. He kept one hand on his still sheathed sword, waiting for the moment when all hell would break loose. Yet it didn't come. Ned allowed himself a brief thought, that everything was going to plan.**_

 _ **After a brief period of tense waiting, allowing all the soldiers to regroup, Ned organised the small army into 2 groups; the first group, made up of 900 men, would try and assault the castle of Ten Towers head on, and attempt to breach the main gate whilst drawing the bulk of the ironborn forces to them. Ned would lead this group.**_

 _ **The second group, numbering the remaining 100 soldiers (most of whom were Karstark men), would flank around the castle, and grapple and climb up the rear walls using climbing spikes. Upon successful infiltration, these 100 would kill any ironborn that were inside, and force the members of House Harlaw that occupied the castle to surrender. Rodrick Cassel had volunteered to lead this group, to which Ned had agreed.**_

 _ **After another small time period of preparing, both groups set off to complete their separate missions.**_

* * *

 _ **Rodrick stuck his climbing spikes into the wall for what felt like the thousandth time. He and his men had been climbing the rear of the castle, where it was least defended, for about 20 minutes. Whilst this particular castle wasn't too large, the walls were relatively high, although it was only about half as high and large as Winterfell's walls. The Cassel had opted to go with the first wave of men to get into the castle, whilst the other men in his group would provide arrow support if needed, and follow afterwards.**_

' **Thank the Gods there's hardly any ironborn here, I'm getting too old for this',** _ **thought Rodrick gratefully, as the first drops of rain started to fall from the gloomy skies above. At first, it had been a light drizzle, yet as Rodrick managed to force his way to the top of the castle walls, it seemed like the heavens had opened. Fat, heavy drops of water assaulted Rodrick and his men, stinging any bare skin and semi-blinding them, along with a howling wind which meant Rodrick could hardly hear or see his men, only outlines of them.**_

 _ **Scrambling atop the battlements, Rodrick noticed how neither he nor any of his men were met with any resistance. Putting it down to Ned and the rest of the force they brought with them managing to draw most of the ironborn to them, Rodrick signaled to the men who had joined him on the battlement to follow him. Unsheathing his sword, the Cassel stumbled through the blistering rain, his men in tow, until he found a door leading into the castle.**_

 _ **For the next 15 minutes or so, Rodrick led the small insurgency through the halls of Ten Towers, killing any ironborn soldier they found, whilst trying to remain as quiet as they could, in order to keep the element of surprise. The more they sneaked through the halls, other smaller groups of Northmen splitting into other sections of the castle, the more Rodrick could hear the battle that ensued outside, near the front gate. Silently, Rodrick prayed to the Gods that Ned was alive.**_

 _ **Soon, Rodrick and about 10 men alongside him found the main hall of the castle. Rodrick halted, and slowly pressed his ear up to the large oak door separating him from whoever waited inside. Muffled speech could be heard, meaning there were others who were not fighting outside. Whether they were soldiers or not Rodrick couldn't tell, which made him slightly nervous. If they were soldiers, no problem, but he had an overwhelming feeling that not all of them were.**_

 _ **Regardless, he still had a job to do. Signaling silently to his men to gather round, Rodrick communicated the plan; to quickly storm the hall, kill any who would attack them first, and force any of House Harlaw inside to surrender the castle and island. The men lined up horizontally to the door, their swords and bows drawn, ready to simultaneously kick down the door, in case it was barricaded.**_

 _ **Rodrick gripped his sword with both hands, mentally steeling himself. Whoever was in that hall would be desperate to survive, and desperate people were dangerous, in these situations. Rodrick lifted his hand to ready the attack. His men waited anxiously and eagerly in equal measure the command. After a few painstakingly long seconds, Rodrick sent another prayer up to the Old Gods, to come back alive from this for his son, and dropped his hand. Ten right feet collided with the sturdy door with great force, causing it to break open.**_

 _ **Rodrick rushed through with his men, expecting ironborn soldiers to attack from all angles, but instead, found one man, sitting on a fairly big high seat, almost like a throne, at the end of the hall. The hall itself was almost empty, save for the small throne in front of him. At the back of his mind, Rodrick wondered if this hall used to be filed with long tables, ideal for hosting great feasts. However, the man sitting on the throne was very much at the front and centre of the Northerner's mind.**_

 _ **The man himself looked very much like a typical ironborn; long shaggy hair, a thick, black beard, brown eyes. However, he was much thinner in comparison to other ironborn warriors Rodrick had faced before. The Cassel motioned for his men to lower their weapons, recognising the man before him, who was now looking straight at him, with a small, dry smirk on his slightly worn features. A sword, in its scabbard, lay across his lap. Somehow, Rodrick thought to himself that the sword must be special, considering how any man would have drawn it by now.**_

" _ **Well, you're definitely not Ned fucking Stark, are yer?" the ironborn almost laughed to himself. "I take it we lost then, eh Northerner?"**_

 _ **The ironborn's almost casual demeanour and tone took Rodrick slightly off guard, before coming back to his senses. Pointing his sword at the unknown man, Rodrick challenged him.**_

" _ **In the name of His Grace Robert of the Hou-"**_

" _ **You want me to surrender, is that it? You don't need to fucking say all the stupid titles. You fucking Northern scum are so stupid, you don't even know it!"**_

 _ **Rodrick scowled at the retort, as his men slightly behind him bristled with irritation. Pushing it aside, Rodrick continued.**_

" _ **Who am I addressing?"**_

 _ **It was with this question that the ironborn man stood to his full height, carrying the sheathed sword with him. Whilst he was slim, he was no means short. Probably about 6 foot 3, Rodrick estimated. The man's face darkened, as he slowly strided to the centre of the hall.**_

" _ **I am Ser Harras Harlaw, heir to Ten Towers! Who are you, Northerner?" Ser Harras asked threateningly.**_

" _ **I'm Rodrick Cassel, Master-at-arms at Winterfell, in service to Lord Stark." Rodrick replied as calmly as he could, whilst portraying a stern exterior.**_

" _ **Well then, Rodrick Cassel, since you Northerners are so damn honourable, why don't we settle things the old way? We all know," Harras gestured to the soldiers in the room, "that any moment now, Lord Stark is going to walk in here and demand surrender. I am telling you now, I have no intention of bending my knee to a mainland piece of scum!"**_

 _ **At the utterance of his stubborn intent, Ser Harras drew his sword from its scabbard, allowing Rodrick to fully gaze upon its beauty. A small sphere of pure moonstone, its white colour brightening from the reflections of the torches in the hall, was embedded into the end of the hilt, as the pommel of the sword. The hilt itself was made of black leather, slightly ridged to allow for better grip. The crossguards, separating the hilt from the blade, were made of darkened steel, a colour like charcoal. They curved very slightly at the ends, towards the blade. The blade itself, was the main reason why Rodrick couldn't help but stare in awe. Grey ripples faintly stained the steel, all along the blade, which shined the most, its edges incredibly sharp, as if it were newly forged yesterday. However, Rodrick knew better. He had seen a very similar, and familiar sword at Winterfell all his life, there was no mistaking what the immensely rare sword was.**_

" _ **Valyrian Steel…." The Cassel managed to whisper, a sense of disbelief in his tones.**_

 _ **Ser Harras chuckled with pride, giving the sword a few twirls with his hands. "Aye. I call it Nightfall. Been in my family for centuries. And now, it's going to take your head. You, against me, Northerner." The ironborn's face darkened, as he challenged Rodrick, who gripped his own sword tightly, and slowly nodded.**_

" _ **For the island, Ser."**_

" _ **Aye. For the island."**_

* * *

 _ **Ned thrust his sword into yet another wounded ironborn soldier, the steel gleaming red with blood as he mercifully ended the man's suffering.**_

 _ **The battle was won, despite many casualties on both sides. The now muddy field that lay out before them, in the shadow of the castle of Ten Towers, was strewn with bodies, both Northern and ironborn. What little blades of grass there were, were now stained red with blood. Seagulls feasted on the dead, their calls only drowned out by the cries and screams of further wounded.**_

 _ **Briefly, Ned wondered to himself if every skirmish or battle with these damned raiders would be so brutal. They seemed ready to die for every single inch of these cursed islands. The Warden of the North hoped that the struggle to crush the rebellion would not be so hard as he feared it would be.**_

" _ **My Lord! My Lord!"**_

 _ **Ned automatically turned to the source of the voice. A soldier, one of Lord Karstark's men, going by the sigil of a white sun on a black background embroidered on his armour, stood upon the battlements of Ten Towers, waving his hands to get Ned's attention.**_

 _ **Ned ran up to the gate leading inside the castle, realising that Rodrick must have been successful in infiltrating the castle.**_

" _ **What news, soldier? We need this gate open!" Ned shouted his question to the Northern soldier stood on the stone battlements.**_

" _ **We're working to open it as I speak, my Lord!"**_

 _ **As if on cue, the 15 foot gate swung outwards, pushed by part of Rodrick's group. Ned strode his way inside with the remnants of his army, before the Karstark soldier hurried his way down the steps into the huge courtyard that they were in, before addressing Ned with a bow of his head.**_

" _ **My Lord, we have secured the castle…"**_

 _ **Ned gave a very brief smile and nod at the good news.**_

" _ **Excellent, good work. What of Rodrick? And the Harlaw family?"**_

" _ **Commander Rodrick is currently engaged in a duel with Ser Harras Harlaw in the main hall, my Lord! That is why I needed your attention urgently!"**_

 _ **Without even a further breath of recognition, Ned started sprinting inside the castle, several men behind him, swords drawn.**_

 _ **Ned raced down the halls, not even checking to let his men catch up.**_ **Please** _ **, he begged to the Gods.**_ **Please don't be dead** _ **.**_

 _ **Ned knew of Ser Harras Harlaw. He was a renowned fighter, especially with his Valyrian steel sword Nightfall. He briefly remembered seeing him at the Tourney of Harrenhal, 10 years ago. Before the war began.**_

 _ **Bursting his way into the main Hall, expecting the worst, Ned instead found himself surprised to see that the two opponents were still fighting, although they must have been fighting for a while, about ten minutes Ned guessed.**_

 _ **Ned could only stand and stare as Rodrick and Ser Harras fought, their bodies tired, yet their determination to win was still strong. Ser Harras was much stronger, Nightfall flashing through the air as he attempted to hack through Rodrick, who managed to dodge almost every hit with surprising agility. It was clear to Ned what he was trying to do; tire him into making a mistake.**_

 _ **And just as the thought passed through his mind, it happened. Ser Harras swung sidewards with Nightfall, yet Rodrick managed to hop backwards, avoiding the strike well, which caused the ironborn lord to lose his footing with the momentum of the swing. It was then that Rodrick took his chance, sticking his foot out for Harras to trip on, which he did, his sword Nightfall clattering to the ground, discarded due to the ironborn's automatic and instant reflex to cushion his fall with his hands.**_

 _ **Immediately Rodrick picked up Nightfall, holding it at Harras's neck, his own sword in his other hand. Ned took this chance to walk up to the two combatants, Northern soldiers surrounding them.**_

 _ **Ser Harras looked up, knowing he was defeated, and looked into the face of the man he truly wanted to face. A wry, knowing smile crossed his lips, with a mirthless chuckle accompanying it.**_

" _ **Lord Stark. I was hoping to face you instead of one of your men, but-"**_

" _ **My man has defeated you, Ser Harras. Your army is destroyed. The island of Harlaw is ours."**_

" _ **Aye, it is….."**_

 _ **Ser Harras lowered his head, tiredness and defeat shown in his body language, before raising it again to look at Rodrick, an expression of bitter respect on his face.**_

" _ **Well fought, Northerner. Harlaw is yours."**_

 _ **Ned looked at Rodrick, pride in his eyes. "Well fought, Rodrick. You will accompany Ser Harras to a cell, until reinforcements arrive from King Robert. You should-"**_

" _ **Harlaw may be taken, Lord Stark, but I would rather let the Drowned God take me down to the furthest depths of the Sunset Sea than be a prisoner in my own fucking castle!"**_

 _ **Ser Harras spat at the feet of Ned after his outburst of defiance, before turning his gaze to the man who had defeated him.**_

" _ **In our culture, we kill those who are defeated in a duel. I am no different. Take my sword, and take my head. Do it! As my last request, and per the laws of combat, I demand that you kill me! I will not suffer the humiliation of bending my knee to that drunk whoremonger of a man you Northern scum call King!"**_

 _ **Rodrick hesitantly turned his gaze to Ned, requesting his approval. Ned simply looked at his friend, and nodded. Honour dictated his decisions, and this was just another example.**_

 _ **The Cassel sheathed his own sword, before gripping Nightfall with both of his hands. Ser Harras lowered his head, exposing his neck, wanting to die a clean death. Rodrick couldn't blame him for wanting death. He would have asked for the same.**_

 _ **Ned stepped back and watched as his friend lifted the Valyrian steel sword above his head, before swinging down with speed and precision onto the neck of Ser Harras Harlaw, removing the ironborn's head from his body.**_

 _ **As Northern soldiers took the body (and head) away, Ned embraced his friend, and gave the first smile that he had given in days.**_

" _ **I'm proud of you, my friend. Ser Harras was not an easy man to fight, let alone defeat and kill. I should expect, knowing Robert, that he will want you knighted for such a thing."**_

" _ **Thank you, my Lord, but the knighthood won't be necessary." Rodrick spoke modestly, to which Ned slapped his hand onto his friend's shoulder.**_

" _ **I agree, but Robert will do it anyway."**_

 _ **The two shared a small chuckle between themselves, before Rodrick's gaze turned to the Valyrian steel sword he still held, now sheathed in its scabbard, surveying it with interest.**_

" _ **You should take it, Rodrick. Ser Harras won't be needing it anymore. Besides, you've earned it." Ned encouraged.**_

 _ **Rodrick's eyes widened, as if he were in trouble for even holding such a beautiful weapon. "My Lord, I can't take this-"**_

 _ **Ned rolled his eyes inside. He knew Rodrick's sense of honour would compel him to reject such a proposal.**_

" _ **Then I, as your Lord and Lord Paramount, command it so that Nightfall is under your possession, and that of your family's, until the end of time. It's an order now, Rodrick. I don't think you'd want to disobey your Lord, would you?"**_

 _ **Rodrick's face wore an expression of frustration, but soon broke into that of laughter, to which Ned joined in. Rodrick looked back down to Nightfall, contemplating the fact that a Valyrian steel sword was now his, and his family's.**_

" _ **Well, I'm sure this is a story Edward would love to hear when he's older."**_

 _ **Ned's face turned serious, yet his grey eyes burned with a silent determination.**_

" _ **Aye, I know he will. And you'll be the one to tell it to him. We'll get through this, Rodrick, and you will return to your son. I promise."**_

 _ **Rodrick smiled gratefully, before extending his arm, which Ned hastefully took, before strapping Nightfall to his belt, and walking away.**_

 _ **Ned looked on wistfully, yet his heart ached with a solemn, empty pain, the last two words reminding him of another war. Of another promise he made. A promise of another's son.**_

* * *

 **A/N: And there you have it, people. Chapter 8, and only over 2 months later! *sarcastic cheer* :/**

 **I can't apologise enough, guys. I am so sorry. It's not good enough. But I promise all of you that I have not, and will not, give up on this story. I'm seeing this one through to the end.**

 **So, what do you think of it? I know, it's a weird one, what with all the flashbacks and stuff, but I thought I needed to set things up for later on in the story, to help it move along too. I didn't write some shitty recollections and memories about Rodrick Cassel for nothing. This will affect events in the story, for Edward, and will change him as a person.**

 **Plus, I liked writing about the past, especially about Edward's mother, Alyssa. I felt that Rodrick needed some backstory, and whilst it isn't very accurate to canon, I felt like his wife's death and campaign in the Iron Islands helped to make him who he is in the show, so there you go. I hope you like the scene with him and Alyssa. Considering my debatable writing skills, I thought it was very emotional and sad. By the way, don't think that I put Alyssa and her background in there as random filler, she will be important to things later. Plus, Syrio seemed quite interested about her.**

 **Thank you to all those who are sticking by me and reading this, and have sent me messages of support and reviews. You are more than welcome to fav and follow, and I will try my best to get back to any questions and reviews you may have for me.**

 **Now, if you'll excuse me, I have chapter 9 to write. That is, after I've spent a couple days trying to get over the emotional and mental trauma of** _ **13 Reasons Why**_ **(poor Clay *sobs uncontrollably*), not to mention the excitement for** _ **Star Wars 8**_ **and** _ **Thor: Ragnarok.**_

 _ **Next chapter hint:**_ **The tourney begins, as the wolves trying to get away from problems they each face. Student and teacher both seek knowledge from each other, and realise a connection.**

 **Love you all.**

Bobberoo98:)


	9. Chapter 9 - Reality and Hidden Truths

**A/N: Hello everyone. Welcome back, chapter 9 is here!**

 **Thank you all so much for the reviews from the previous chapters, and to those who PM'd me about questions they had.**

 **Review section:**

CunningSlytherin **: Thank you again for the review. I'm really glad you like the depth put into the story and characters from the last chapter, and as for your question about the Vice Captain, his duties will pop up somewhere. Thank you!**

Creation Nation (Guest) **: Thanks, man. I really appreciate your praise of the effort gone into the story, and the plot and characters and everything. Yes, I admit, there is some stuff that can be seen from a mile away, but I thank you again for the kind review, it means a lot to me.**

 **On with the story, hope you guys enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 9 - Reality and Hidden Truths

"Someday, your husband will sit there, and you will sit by his side."

Sansa stared at the huge, monstrous Iron Throne, as she walked through the throne room alongside her septa.

"And one day, before too long, you will present your son to the court. All the Lords of Westeros will gather here, to see the little Prince."

Sansa could have sworn that not even a week or two ago, her septa's words would have filled her with excitement and eagerness at the prospect of her future as Queen. She had dreamed of sitting by her husband on the Iron Throne for years, ever since she was old enough to properly want something.

Recently, however…

Sansa had to admit to herself that things were different. The idea of being Queen was something that she still craved, but the young redheaded Stark couldn't help but feel uncomfortable at the idea of _who_ she would be Queen to.

Prince Joffrey had been the subject of torment in her mind for weeks, ever since that horrible, _horrible_ day on the Kingsroad. Whilst no doubt he was handsome, and had given a good first impression at Winterfell; smiling, being polite and certainly charming, Sansa felt that was just a mask, an exterior put up to hide his true colours. The incident where he had tried to bully and intimidate, and eventually harm her sister and best friend had definitely shown them, and yet, despite him being completely in the wrong, it was she who had suffered, even though she had (guiltily) sided with him at the inn.

Now Lady was gone, slaughtered, and her friendship with Edward had nearly been harmed beyond repair, if not for her direwolf's sacrifice. Not to mention the fact that she had not even _seen_ the Prince in the past several days, let alone spoken to him. Overall, this had led to her spending her nights laying awake, the belief that Joffrey was not interested in her one bit, was growing in her mind, gnawing away. She didn't know what to do, or even think.

However, as Sansa thought about what Septa Mordane had said about the eventual prospect of making heirs, another fear entered her mind, one that she chose to speak aloud.

"What if I have a girl?"

Septa Mordane scoffed slightly, rolling her eyes in almost exasperation. "Gods be good, you'll have boys _and_ girls, and plenty of them."

"What if I _only_ have girls?" Sansa reiterated, worry evident in her voice.

Septa Mordane turned to look at Sansa, giving a reassuring smile. "I wouldn't worry about that."

Sansa turned her head to look at her septa, before explaining her point. "Jeyne Poole's mother had five children - all of them girls."

"Yes, but it's highly unlikely."

"But _what if?_ " Sansa asked, her voice now a dread filled whisper.

Septa Mordane chose to indulge Sansa by answering her.

"Well, if you only had girls, I suppose the throne would pass to Prince Joffrey's little brother."

"And everyone would hate me." Sansa bitterly assumed, staring at the Iron Throne.

Slightly shocked at the young Stark's words, Septa Mordane gave Sansa a hard look, and spoke with a resolute tone that gave no room for argument, yet was sincere.

"Nobody could ever hate you."

This seemed to have no positive effect on Sansa's thoughts. In fact, her thoughts only darkened, spurred on by the crisis she was having.

"Joffrey does."

Sansa looked at her septa, as she dismissed such a notion.

"Nonsense! Why would you say such a thing?"

Sansa could only reply with a timid look that Septa Mordane took a second to recognise, knowing without words what the eldest Stark daughter was referring to.

"That business with Edward and the Prince? Sansa, I've told you a hundred times: What's done is done-"

Sansa, fed up with hearing the lecture for what seemed like the thousandth time, interrupted. "Please, shut up about it!"

Sansa started to walk away from her septa, making to leave the throne room, tired of being reminded about her troubles.

"Do you remember what your father told you in your lessons? About forgiveness?"

Sansa stopped and turned around to look back at Septa Mordane, trying her utmost to look uninterested. Of course she knew. "He said that the first steps on the path to forgiveness are the hardest to walk down."

Septa Mordane nodded before continuing, her voice a very knowing tone. "Do you know what he meant by that?"

Sansa opened her mouth to answer, but found that she didn't truly know what to say in response to the question. Instead, she shrugged her shoulders slightly as an incentive for her septa to give the answer, which she did.

"Your father meant that it is always hard to forgive someone at first, because you may fear that talking to them will just drive you further apart. But more times than not, once you talk to them, forgiveness is much easier to attain."

Septa Mordane separated the distance between herself and Sansa, and took the young Lady's hands in her own. "Sansa, you _will_ find it in your heart to forgive Prince Joffrey for his actions. You just need to speak to him. He is most likely feeling the same as you do. Perhaps going to the tourney later today will give you the opportunity to talk with him."

Sansa weighed her septa's words carefully. It wasn't as if she could make the Prince dislike her even less? He hardly saw her as things were. Deciding that attending the tourney with her sister would probably be best, she silently nodded in agreement, before walking out of the throne room.

As she made her way back to the Tower of the Hand, Sansa had time to think. Even though she was convinced that Joffrey didn't like her at all, and that talking to him would hardly work in fixing things between them, deep down, there was a part of Sansa, the little girl who dreamed of knights and honourable noblemen. This young little girl inside was one who still wished and hoped that Joffrey was interested in her, that the Kingsroad was just something that had gotten out of hand and that the Prince's actions were justified somehow. Maybe he was tired, grumpy from the long journey to Winterfell and back? Maybe he was provoked into lashing out? That made sense to her, considering Arya _definitely_ had a talent for getting under people's skin. Maybe if they talked about things, everything would be alright in the end?

Surely there was a reasonable excuse for what happened? _Surely_ , that Prince at the Kingsroad was not the real Joffrey? As Sansa settled in her room, to style her hair and prepare for attending the tourney, she really hoped that the true Prince was still the charming, handsome lion she met at Winterfell.

* * *

On hot, humid days like these, Ned desperately missed the summer snows that Winterfell regularly experienced. Not only was the climate at King's Landing as unbearable as the Lannisters, it only seemed to cloud his mind, leaving him unable to fully concentrate on important matters. The matter of Jon Arryn's death, however, was growing increasingly too intriguing to ignore.

Ned sat on his horse, as he gently rode through the crowded Street of Steel in King's Landing, alongside his Captain, Jory. Earlier that day, once the daily Small Council meeting had concluded, Ned had borrowed a book from Pycelle, who claimed that the tome - detailing the history and people of all the noble Houses of the Seven Kingdoms - was one that the late Jon Arryn was very interested in. Of course, Ned couldn't help but ask to read it as well, but he couldn't figure out why it was of such intrigue to the former Hand. Instead, a visit with Littlefinger persuaded Ned to look into Jon's former squire, the newly knighted Ser Hugh, to see if he knew anything of Jon's death.

He had sent Jory to question the former squire, but, from what his Captain was now telling him, it had proved unsuccessful.

"He said he'd be glad to talk to the Hand himself. He's a _knight_ , you see."

Ned could've rolled his eyes in distaste for the pompous arrogance of those with the honour to have 'Ser' before their names. "Ah, a knight," The Lord of Winterfell mockingly agreed. "They strut around like roosters down here. Even the ones who have never seen an arrow coming their way. Your uncle Rodrick is more worthy of his knighthood than most of these combined."

Ned and Jory stopped their horses, having arrived at Tobho Mott's smith, their intended destination. Jory hadn't questioned his Lord's motives in coming here, loyal as he were. But the elder Cassel guessed it was important, considering Lord Stark was willing to walk amongst the common people. His brown eyes scanned the almost never-ending crowd, cautious and protective.

"You shouldn't be out here, my Lord. There's no telling who has eyes where." The Captain of the Guard warned.

"Let them look." Ned replied, not seemingly bothered by the fact that he was most likely being watched. The Hand of the King dismounted his white horse, eager to talk to a young apprentice inside about visits to him by Jon Arryn.

* * *

By the Old Gods and the New, it was hot. Even the bloody breeze was hot. Guard duty and patrol were tedious and tiring enough, without having the temperature equivalent to being inside an oven trebling those effects.

Edward now understood why 3 of the men had collapsed while on guard duty this week. In truth, he almost envied them, being able to rest in bed all day. At first, he dismissed the heat as just being a minor annoyance, he would get used to it soon. _The fuck I will,_ the young Vice-Captain thought to himself. Not only was it hard to stop his eyes shutting, Edward wasn't sure he could feel his feet as he stood ramrod straight in front of Lord Stark's solar.

The young Cassel was seriously starting to regret taking up an extra shift on behalf of those who were recovering from the heat. He really wished he could be training with Arya and Syrio. Whilst the few sessions that he and the young Lady shared were certainly different and unusual with the presence of the Braavosi sword-master, Edward had to admit that it was definitely beneficial.

Syrio's help and wisdom in instructing and training Arya with a sword had rubbed off on him, which in turn had led to him being able to teach Arya more efficiently.

Not only had Syrio's teaching and methods enhanced the swordplay abilities of himself and Arya, Edward did have to admit that he was starting to respect and like the man. He had a charm to him, and was caring, especially to Arya, yet he carried a supreme confidence about him that told the young Northerner he was someone who expected high standards, and was battle hardened.

Recently, Edward's mind had constantly wandered to the letter his late mother had written for him, and the beautiful ruby necklace he now wore underneath his studded leather armour and undershirt. He had lost count of the amount of times he had read the words his mother had spoken in ink, and the small, sad smiles that appeared on his face when he did. However, there was one small part of that letter which intrigued him greatly.

Alyssa had mentioned having a brother, only a couple of years younger, who had gone on to become First Sword to the Sealord of Braavos. Edward's mind could not help but wonder who he was, if he was still alive or not, and if he was….. where could he be in the world? Could he translate the Valyrian words on the pendant he now owned?

Any answers, Edward suspected, could surely be given by Syrio. It made sense to him; he was Braavosi, a former First Sword, surely he must of at least _heard_ of Alyssa's brother. Maybe all First Swords know each other? Of course, there was the possibility that Syrio might be….

 _No,_ Edward physically shaked his head, scoffing to himself at the distant thought. _It would be too convenient and absurd._

Edward decided to push these thoughts to the back of his mind, where many other interesting and silly speculations, along with an embarrassing amount of daydreams about a certain female Stark, varying in degrees of, uh, _intimacy,_ resided.

Thankfully, Edward inwardly sighed with relief that his slow roasting by the King's Landing sun would be alleviated slightly, as his cousin Jory approached, his brown eyes targeting the Vice Captain. Jory wore a stoic, serious expression on his face - a mask shared by many Northerners when working and performing their duties.

In Jory's hand, was a sealed scroll. What was in it, Edward didn't know, but he assumed it was important, judging by the serious look on his cousin's face.

"How's your day going, Captain?" Edward greeted with a smile, to which Jory returned the gesture, holding out the scroll, as if he meant to give it to him.

"Lord Stark wants this to be delivered to the King, as soon as possible. I'd take it myself, but I need to go and check on Howard and Willem. Apparently, they're claiming to be light-headed from the heat, but I want to make sure that they're telling the truth. As Vice Captain, would you mind doing this for me?"

Edward gently took the scroll, inspecting it. The seal was that of the Hand. Interesting. Looking back up at Jory, he nodded in agreement, another small smile meant to silently accept the task.

Jory thanked his younger family member, before heading to the barracks to inspect his men.

As Edward made his way to King Robert's chambers, he couldn't help but feel increasingly nervous with each step he took, despite the relief of being able to move about. The last time he and the King had spoken, he had nearly been executed. If that wasn't enough to send adrenaline through his veins whenever that memory passed through his mind, he wasn't sure what would.

Taking the steps down through the Red Keep, he heard the faint sound of laughter. Feminine laughter. No doubt caused by the King, the Cassel thought. He had heard the rumours, that Robert had sired multiple bastards, and regularly was unfaithful to Queen Cersei. It honestly wouldn't surprise him if those rumours were true.

He followed the sounds of laughter until he reached a room, the chambers of the King, where the laughter, amongst other sounds of Robert's voice emanated.

It was there where Edward's anxiety increased tenfold. Standing there, guarding the door, staring at an invisible spot on the floor, listening intently to the sounds coming from the room, with a face that seemed numb with disgust, was a man with characteristically blonde hair, wearing shining gold Kingsguard armour.

 _Ser Jaime Lannister._

A man famous for being the youngest initiate into the Kingsguard at the age of 16 - Edward's age - and even more infamous for killing his king, breaking his oath, and ensuring one of the greatest dynasties in the history of Westeros ceased to be.

Edward didn't know whether to feel awe or contempt at the deeds and history of Ser Jaime, but he wasn't there to judge him. Clutching the scroll in his right hand, he tried to appear as confident and relaxed as possible, before approaching him.

Ser Jaime didn't acknowledge his presence, still staring at the floor, listening in to the 'activities' the King was participating in. Brushing it off, Edward addressed the Kingsguard member, pointedly holding out the scroll.

"Ser Jaime? This is for the King from Lord Stark, should I leave it with-"

"Shhh." Ser Jaime held a finger up to silence the Vice Captain, which sparked mild annoyance in Edward's mind, before finally meeting his gaze with his green eyes. "Listen. Do you hear them?"

Silence reigned for a small moment, before Edward hesitantly answered Ser Jaime's question with a nod. The Lannister, satisfied with the answer, asked another question, which only served to irritate Edward further.

"How many do you think are in there with him?"

Edward, simply wanting to get his task over and done with, decided to indulge Ser Jaime, who waited for an answer.

"Three." The Cassel guessed, not really caring whether he was right or not.

Ser Jaime shook his head slowly, before responding, an underlying tone of hatred in his smooth, arrogant voice. "He likes to do this when I'm on duty; he makes me listen as he insults my sister."

Edward, despite feeling the slightest bit of sympathy for Ser Jaime at his predicament, grew more impatient, but decided to be polite in returning to his original job. "Forgive me, Ser Jaime-"

"Why do I have to forgive you? Have I wronged you?" Ser Jaime countered, confrontation clear in his seemingly bored, yet calculating expression. This took Edward back a bit, but he was never one to back down from a challenge, even more so from a smug Lion of Casterly Rock.

"My cousin has met you before, you know. As has my father." The Vice Captain stated, matter-of-factly.

"Have we? Strange, I've forgotten. Do remind me of them." Ser Jaime's voice took on a sarcastic and mocking tone, which only served to make Edward's blood boil more. _Don't let him see,_ his mind urged him.

"My father, Ser Rodrick Cassel, met you at Seagard, shortly before the capture of Harlaw. My cousin, Jory Cassel, fought beside you one afternoon at the Siege of Pyke."

Ser Jaime's face slowly rose in comprehension, realising who the Vice Captain meant. "Ahh. I remember. You must be Edward Cassel then. My sister told me all about you, all that business with my nephew…."

Edward's face turned stoic and hardened at the mention of the incident, not wanting Ser Jaime to continue, which thankfully he didn't, choosing to reminisce about the Greyjoy Rebellion, but not before giving a smug look at the Northerner.

"...I remember when we came ashore the island of Harlaw. Your father was knighted by the King for defeating Harras Harlaw in single combat, if my memory serves correctly. He even got to keep his Valyrian steel sword as well, the lucky man." Ser Jaime's mouth curled slightly at the remark, before continuing. "Your cousin nearly got his eye taken by one of the Greyjoys-"

"I know. He still has the scar from it." Edward interrupted, earning a small glare from the Lannister, before his face softened slightly, brushing it off.

"Vicious sons of whores." Ser Jaime cursed, to which Edward scoffed lightly in agreement.

"They do like their bloodshed."

"They stopped liking it at the end." Ser Jaime responded darkly, before another small smile appeared on his handsome face, clearly remembering something from the past, his posture loosening in friendly conversation. "That was a proper battle. Did your cousin tell you about Thoros of Myr charging through the breach?" Ser Jaime made a ramming gesture with his hand, as if to accentuate the memory.

Edward smiled too. Of course Jory told him. He'd heard the story only a thousand times.

"Thoros of Myr with his burning sword? I'm sure Jory will remember that till the day he dies."

"I saw the youngest of the Greyjoy lads at Winterfell. It was like seeing a shark on a mountaintop." Ser Jaime gave a confused and slightly disgusted look to Edward as he spoke, clearly unhappy with what he saw. Edward bristled slightly at the mention of Theon. He had never liked him, and probably never would.

"Aye. My friend, Robb-"

"Lord Stark's eldest boy?"

"Aye, he befriended Theon, and tried to assure me that he was a good guy."

"I doubt it. Nothing good comes from befriending a Greyjoy."

Edward nodded in agreement, his expression full of hate and loathing. "He's ironborn, his people don't deserve friendship."

Before their conversation of mutual dislike towards the Greyjoys could continue, King Robert's chamber doors opened, with some dishevelled and embarrassed handmaidens scampering away. Edward could see Ser Jaime's eyes close, desperately wanting to get some disturbing mental images out of his mind. A tiny part of the Cassel felt pity for the Lannister, he wouldn't bear to be insulted like Ser Jaime was right now. However, he didn't have time to feel sorry for him, he had a job to do, he had already wasted enough time already.

"Can I leave this with you?" He held out the scroll, for him to take. "The message from Lord Stark."

"I don't serve Lord Stark." Ser Jaime snapped, his voice deep and threatening, his eyes radiating cold fury, any openness or warmth completely evaporated as if it wasn't there at all.

Edward almost flinched at Ser Jaime's response. Trying to get over it as best he could, he simply nodded and began walking back to Lord Stark's solar, scroll still in hand. It wasn't until he was out of sight and earshot that he backed up against a wall, allowing himself to let out a breath he had been holding in until now. He hadn't expected to be shouted at like that, but there was one thing that truly scared him the most: Ser Jaime's reaction was almost identical to what Queen Cersei's had been, back at the Kingsroad. Cold, furious, venomous. Fitting, considering the two were twins, but no less frightening. And he had gone from relatively cordial to angry and dangerous in the blink of an eye.

Attempting to rein in his nerves and calm his breathing, Edward made his way back to his guard post, aiming to give the scroll back to Lord Stark when he arrived back from his duties as Hand. Perhaps, to try and take his mind off the sudden shock that Ser Jaime gave him, he should attend the tourney later that afternoon, it would also serve as an opportunity to speak with Arya, and maybe Sansa, if they both attended.

However, Edward now realised the reality and hidden truth of King's Landing - this was no Stag's home, but a Lion's den.

* * *

The tourney was about to begin. The sun was now slightly hidden behind white clouds, allowing everyone a small respite from the nearly unbearable heat of that day. Flags and banners, all different colours and sigils, were waving proudly in the light breeze, as everyone stood and sat patiently for the jousting to begin.

The whole royal family was there, King Robert sitting next to Queen Cersei, the former drinking himself stupid whilst the latter wrapped in a Lannister cloak and looking so very uninterested at what was happening. Standing to Robert's left, was Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, a legendary swordsman famed for his unswaying loyalty and honour. Prince Joffrey, looking as bored as his mother, sat just in front of her, whilst his younger siblings, the sweet and beautiful Princess Myrcella and the little Prince Tommen sat just across from him. Sandor Clegane, also known as the Hound, Joffrey's sworn sword, stood just behind the heir, quiet yet menacing.

Sansa sat on the seating reserved for nobility, near where the King and his family sat, Arya and Septa Mordane to her immediate left. Still carrying the worries and fears she expressed earlier that day in the throne room, she looked up to her left at Prince Joffrey, hoping to catch his eye. She had done up her hair in a mixture of Northern and Southern style, her auburn ginger hair flowing down her back, yet intricately braided at the top. She wanted to look her best, especially for Joffrey.

After a few seconds, Joffrey did indeed notice her gaze, to which she gave a reassuring and warm, friendly smile, but the Prince, his pride still clearly hurt, looked away quickly, not wanting the attention from his betrothed. Sansa's smile fell, as did her gaze, feeling slightly stung and hurt from the silent rebuttal. Maybe he _did_ hate her, after all.

"What's the matter, my Lady? Are you trying to do your best impression of Jon when he's moody?"

Instantly recognising the voice of the person who made a teasing jab at her, Sansa snapped her head to her right, seeing possibly the one person who could make her feel better, his newly trimmed hair waving lazily in the breeze, that damn infectious smile plastered on his face. The youngest Cassel was wearing his leather armour, but didn't have his sword belt with him, clearly off-duty.

"Edward!" Both Sansa and Arya exclaimed in pleasant surprise at seeing their Northern friend. Sansa couldn't help but smile widely, it had been a number of days since they had last properly spoken.

"I thought you had guard duty?" Sansa questioned curiously.

"I did, but Jory put two others in my place, for trying to get out of doing their original shifts. So after I put away my sword and cleaned up the barracks a bit, I decided to come here and enjoy the tourney." Edward explained, running his hand through his thick dark brown locks to remove it from getting in his face. "May I sit?"

"Of course." Sansa answered, slightly flustered from the surprise of having her best friend with her. Edward gently sat down next to the redheaded Stark on her right, before his face turned slightly more serious and concerned.

"What's wrong, my Lady?"

Sansa knew Edward had a knack for knowing if something was bothering her, and he was never afraid to ask about it. However, she was slightly hesitant to talk about it, considering the dislike the Cassel had for her betrothed. Yet, she knew that Edward would understand, thinking back to that night in her chambers when they spoke about the same subject gave evidence for that.

Choosing to simply look up at Joffrey, saddened still, Edward followed her gaze, and hardened his face slightly as he recognised what was bothering her.

"He'll come around, don't worry." Edward reassured, a gentle smile on his face when Sansa looked at him, however hers carried a forlorn frown.

"But what if he doesn't? He already hates me."

"No-one hates you, my Lady. The Prince will-"

"Lover's quarrel?"

Edward's reassurance towards Sansa was interrupted, by a thin, seemingly friendly man, who had silently made his way to Edward's right, allowing him to be seen by the Northerners and their septa. He wore a simple, brown robe, pinned together by a silver mockingbird on his chest. His hair was short, well trimmed, the opposite to Edward's style, his small sideburns greying, indicating he was approaching middle age.

Edward, Sansa and Arya all wore confused expressions, clearly unfamiliar with the well-spoken, smooth voiced man. Sansa, being the polite one, broke the short silence first.

"I'm sorry, do I…?"

Septa Mordane answered for the man, introducing him to the group. "Sansa, Arya, Edward, this is Lord Baelish, he's known-"

"As an old friend of the family," Baelish finished, directing his attention on Sansa, wearing a smile that set Edward slightly on edge for some reason, as he sat at the end of the row. Edward was silently thankful that he was separating him from Sansa, sat in between them. "I've known your mother, Lady Catelyn, a long, long time."

Arya, being Arya, chose this moment to butt in, insensitively asking a question that angered both her sister and her septa. "Why do people call you Littlefinger?"

Baelish simply smiled at the Stark girl's curiosity, quietly chuckling to himself. "When I was a child, I was very small, and I come from a spit of land in the Vale, called the Fingers. So, you see, it's an exceedingly clever nickname."

Edward, curious to know how Lord Baelish knew Lady Catelyn, was about to ask him about it, but his attention, and everyone else's, was drawn to an unsurprisingly drunk King Robert.

"I've been sitting here for days! Start the damned joust before I piss myself!" The Baratheon King slurred, much to the unimpressed disgust of Queen Cersei, who rolled her eyes and left the pavilion.

Sure enough, at the King's command, two riders were brought out for the first round of the jousting. Sansa's gaze was caught by one of the riders, a genuinely _huge_ man, dressed in charcoal coloured armour, looking as if he would crush his horses back at any moment with his sheer weight.

"Gods, who's that?" Sansa asked, voicing the minds of Edward and Arya, her voice portraying half disbelief, half fear.

It was Littlefinger who eagerly answered the Stark. "Ser Gregor Clegane. People call him the Mountain."

The Mountain stopped his horse next to his opponent, Ser Hugh of the Vale, looked positively frightened as the two riders bowed their heads in salute to King Robert, who simply waved them off, demanding the proper jousting start.

Edward recognised Ser Gregor's last name, looking from the massive knight to Prince Joffrey's sworn sword, Sandor Clegane.

"The Hound's brother?" He voiced out loud before he could stop himself. Littlefinger glanced at the Cassel next to him, smirking a knowing smile and nodding in answer to the question, before leaning in closely to Edward, drawing both his and Sansa's attention as both riders made their way to each end of the track.

"Has anyone ever told you about the story of the Mountain and the Hound?"

Edward and Sansa both slightly shook their heads, turning their heads to look at the Hound, with his half-scarred face rendering him ugly and disfigured.

"Lovely little tale of brotherly love…." Littlefinger continued, his voice growing quiet, as if simply telling the story would be scandalous. "...the Hound was just a pup, six years old maybe. Gregor, a few years older; already a big lad, already getting a reputation…"

Edward and Sansa couldn't help but glance fearfully towards the big knight, as he and Ser Hugh drove their horses towards each other, lances aiming to dismount the other, but missing on the first run. Littlefinger smirked at the almost frightened look on the two Northerner's faces, before he spoke again, his voice now a whisper, forcing Edward and Sansa to lean in closer in order to hear, unable to force themselves away from the suspenseful tale being told.

"...one evening, Gregor found his little brother playing with a toy by the fire: _Gregor's_ toy, a wooden knight. Gregor didn't even say a word, he just grabbed his brother by his neck….."

The Mountain and Ser Hugh readied their horses for another pass, their lances pointing at the other, before spurring their mares to a run, the sound of hoofbeats on the ground growing quicker, the knights getting closer.

"...and he shoved his brother's face into the burning coals. He held him there, while the pup screamed, while his face melted…"

As soon as Littlefinger described the horrific act that the Hound endured, Edward and Sansa's minds being tortured by the imaginary screams, the two knights came together, the Mountain's lance shattering on impact with Ser Hugh's chest, causing the young man to fly off his saddle onto the ground several feet away. Sansa, already scared from the story, was startled, and screamed as the event unfolded before them, the crowd groaning and hissing from the brute force of the collision.

Edward, whilst slightly startled himself, noticed a large splinter of wood protruding from Ser Hugh's neck, as did the rest of the crowd. Thick, dark blood spurted from the wound, choking the young knight, staining his armour and the ground beneath him. Noticing Sansa and Arya were staring in disbelief and uncovered shock at the dying man in front of them, Edward couldn't help but do the same. He barely even realised Sansa's right hand gripping his left arm for support, simply made numb by the sight of Ser Hugh, who finally succumbed to his wound.

In the back of Edward's mind, he recognised that this was the first time he had seen death. He was disgusted and shaken by it, yet he couldn't take his eyes off the dead man, even as he was taken away by stewards. He barely even noticed the traumatised Sansa and Arya being taken away by Septa Mordane, most likely to recover from the horrific sight. There was only one thing in Edward's mind, as he blankly stared at nothing, his shock evident.

 _That could happen to me._

"Not what you were expecting?"

Edward snapped out of his trance, looking around to find himself sitting alone with Littlefinger, who was looking at him with a half-pitying expression. Scrambling through his head to find an answer, Edward shook his head. Littlefinger simply smiled, but not one that reassured the young Cassel. It was more of a predatory smirk.

"You know, there aren't many people that know the story behind the Hound. You best not tell anyone about it."

Finally finding his voice, Edward managed to get out a small "I won't.", but it was far from convincing.

"Please don't. If the Hound so much as heard you mention it…." Littlefinger gazed up again to the scarred warrior, with Edward not even daring to turn his head to look at the Master of Coin, fear paralysing him. "I'm afraid not even your sword training or even Lord Stark would be able to save you from him."

After that final, chilling warning, Littlefinger left. Edward sat there alone, processing the new information he had learnt, and the vision of Ser Hugh's horrible death still burning itself into his memory. He hadn't expected to find death so….. sudden. He knew that he would see it at some point, and he guessed that helped him to deal with the blood and gory details to a small extent, but the way it happened, and the manner of the death, it was so insignificant. And that was what scared Edward the most.

Of course, the prospect of the Hound hunting him down and slaughtering him like an animal was equally terrifying, and so the Cassel resolved to keep the tale of his injury to himself. Choosing to leave the tourney, Edward made his way back to the Red Keep. Perhaps a lesson with Syrio tomorrow was in order, to take his mind off things.

* * *

 **A/N: It's a short one, I know, but I feel the extra scenes I had planned for this chapter will work well in the next one, so yeah, sorry.**

 **That being said, with the insane amount of hype that has been generated from the 2nd trailer for Season 7, hopefully chapter 10 will be up quicker than this one was. Regardless, I hope you guys enjoyed it!**

 **As I have mentioned before in the previous chapter, I am not giving up on this story, and whilst the wait for chapters might be quite long, I can assure you they will be done to the best standard I can provide, and they** _ **will**_ **come out. I hope you guys are alright with that.**

 **So yeah, life is becoming quite complicated and difficult for the Stark household, and with the tourney underway, things are only going to get more so. I loved writing the bit with Edward and Jaime, in the show it's between Jory and Jaime, but since Edward hasn't formally met Jaime, nor have we included the Kingslayer in the story so far, I felt it was fitting to change it up slightly. Edward and Sansa's first meeting with Littlefinger is an important one. As you will find out, he will cause many problems for the Stark and Cassel in the future, far and near.**

 **Anyway, I hope you guys are doing well, and I will see you in chapter 10!**

 _ **Next chapter hint:**_ **More moves are made in the Great Game, whilst a spider and mockingbird wait for the Hand's discovery. The knighted lion prepares to strike at the quiet wolf, upon the capture of his brother.**

 **Love you all,**

Bobberoo98 :)


	10. Chapter 10 - A Gain and a Loss

**A/N: Hi everyone! Hope you're all well. I'm so sorry it's been so long, but Season 7 was just amazing, it's mainly why this chapter has taken so long to be released, but I hope you guys understand that. There have been other reasons, but now that this chapter is out, it should be smoother sailing from here, hopefully.**

 **Review section:**

Guest **: Thank you so much! Keep on reading my friend, I hope it doesn't disappoint!**

Guest: **Very interesting, I'm planning for something to happen along those lines between Littlefinger and Edward, but you'll have to wait and find out, thank you so much for the review, I hope you keep on reading.**

 **Prepare yourselves, guys. We're in episode 5 and 6 of Season 1 territory now, and things are about to escalate so hard.**

 **Chapter 10, let's do this!**

* * *

Chapter 10 - A Gain and a Loss

When Edward imagined the duties of being a Household Guard to Lord Stark, he didn't imagine this much standing around. Whilst being Vice-Captain did have its perks - having an actual title, as small as it was, meant a lot to him - the young Cassel was rather unimpressed by what the job mostly entailed.

Patrol was easy enough, all he had to do was just walk around and be on the lookout for anything suspicious. Granted, it lost its charm fast, but at least he normally had another guard with him to talk to. When it came to cleaning out the barracks, it wasn't _too_ bad, but with some of the fellow Northerners having manners of pigs, it became quite a task. That being said, once you got into the rhythm of things, it actually became quite therapeutic, and Edward allowed himself to lose himself in the mundane numbness of the job until it was done.

However, guard post duty was mental _suicide_.

Edward currently stood vigil outside the chambers which currently held Lady Sansa, who had just gotten back from the tourney with her father. Allowing his mind to wander, he thought back to Winterfell; the summer snows lightly falling whilst he sparred with Robb and Jon, smiles on each of their faces. He missed being able to freely train. He missed those two dearly. Now they were separated; Jon at the Wall, Robb in Winterfell, and Edward in King's Landing. If there were any doubts about serving Lord Stark as Vice-Captain, it would be due to being away from the young men who he considered brothers.

But duty would always take first priority. It was for the honour of himself and his House that he was here, at Lord Stark's request no less. He just had to keep remembering that.

Edward was interrupted from his thoughts by the sound of quick footsteps coming his way, and, as he turned his head, he was met by his cousin and Captain, Jory. A worried look adorned his slightly weathered face, as he was flanked by two other guardsmen, his brown eyes radiating concern, his lips almost pursed in a clear grimace.

Noticing the serious expression on his family member's face, Edward decided against a sarcastic or generally casual quip, instead going for a simple address to Jory.

"Captain."

"Vice-Captain." Jory greeted professionally, causing a churn of worry and slight nervousness in Edward's stomach. Whenever Jory was like this, distant, cold and serious, the situation normally called for it. Whatever it was, things didn't seem good.

"What's wrong?" The younger Cassel asked, trepidation and caution accentuating his question.

Jory flicked his gaze to the door Edward was guarding, noticing that it was Sansa's room, before returning it to his cousin. Judging by that, Edward figured that it involved one of the Starks, and he evidently didn't want Sansa to overhear.

"Walk with me, I'll explain on the way."

Edward began walking alongside Jory, as the Captain left the two guardsmen he had brought with him to take up the young Vice-Captain's role on guard duty. Only when they were on the stairwell did Jory explain, the gravity of his tones spiking the worry in Edward's chest.

"Lord Stark has sent some of us to find Lady Arya. She hasn't been spotted all day. I came to you to find out if you have any idea as to where she might be."

A small spark of relief was felt by Edward at the news. Whilst Arya being missing was definitely very concerning, luckily he knew of some places where she might be. Besides, it wasn't completely surprising to Edward that she was gone, as she was always the adventurous one, along with Bran.

"Don't worry, Jory. I'll find her for you." Edward assured his cousin with a confident grin and a pat on the shoulder, already making his way to the most likely place he thought Arya would be, before stopping and turning back to Jory, the grin turned into a full teasing smile.

"You know, you could've just come to me instead of sending half the guard out, cousin. You know how much time I spend with Arya." Edward half reprimanded his Captain, his face mockingly looking stern. Jory chuckled in response, before answering back to his younger Vice-Captain, a playful tone in his Northern voice.

"Aye, but all the other guards are calling you a Stark, with how much time you spend with the girls! Besides, they'd be bored if I didn't give them something to do, you know how they get!"

A deep laugh erupted from Edward, nodding his head in agreement at Jory's words, before he adopted another playful grin, his eyes turning thoughtful.

"Edward Stark…. has a nice ring to it, don't you think Jory?"

Jory simply rolled his eyes, a smile of his own curling his lips. "In your dreams, cousin. Bring Arya to Lord Stark when you find her."

Edward nodded at the order, still smiling as he made his way to the place he guessed Arya would be.

* * *

As soon as Edward walked into the spacious room that had served as the training area for himself, Arya and Syrio, he knew that the young, spirited Stark was not there. Normally, he would've heard wooden swords clashing, determined grunts of exertion, and stern but strong encouragement. Except, as the young Vice-Captain entered the room, he was met with silence. Looking around, and finding nothing, Edward sighed in mild frustration. As he was about to leave the room, however, a familiar voice stopped him.

"Something is troubling you, boy."

Edward turned to find Syrio arriving from the other side of the room, a wooden sword in hand, resting against his shoulder. The Braavosi had an expectant look in his eye, like he was waiting for Edward to explain, to which the Cassel did.

"Arya's missing. I came here to find out if you knew anything about where she is."

Syrio gave a knowing smile. "Ah, I have sent the little lady on a task that she must complete. Rest assured, boy, she is fine."

Edward furrowed his brows in confusion. "What task is she on? Do you know where she is?"

"She will be in the castle, young one. Forgive me, I should have told you about it."

Edward scoffed slightly, his temper prickling in annoyance at the calmness of Syrio's explanation. "I think it's Lord Stark that you'll need to apologise to. Besides, she's not _in_ the castle. Half the guard, myself included, are looking for her. She can't just simply be here."

Syrio's grin didn't falter. In fact, he let out a small chuckle, which only worsened Edward's rising anger.

"What's funny?" Edward questioned, a scowl appearing on his face. As good a teacher as Syrio was, he didn't half get on his nerves.

"I find it fascinating…. The little one is capable of evading 30 guards who are specifically searching for her. She has potential to be a fine warrior."

"Syrio, I need to know where exactly you sent her-"

"The little lady will be fine, boy." Syrio interrupted, his casual and collected voice serving to calm Edward slightly. "She will return, I assure you. Your guards will find her."

The Cassel exhaled deeply, partially out of frustration and partially to calm himself, whilst fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose out of exasperation.

 _Damn you, Arya. Why do you have to be so elusive?_

"Thank you, Syrio. I'll let the men know to watch the entrances to the keep."

Straightening up, and giving a curt nod, Edward turned to leave, and made his way up the small steps leading to the door.

"There's something else, isn't there?"

Edward stopped, confused. He turned around, displaying such emotion to Syrio.

"What do you mean?"

"Clearly something else is bothering you. You don't seem the type of boy to be stressed all the time, and the lady Arya isn't the cause of that. Am I right, boy?"

Another deep sigh escaped Edward's nose, his eyes downcast towards the floor. Surely he could tell Syrio? It wasn't as if he was going to tell anyone anyway.

"It's… about a girl." Edward answered hesitantly, his eyes still gazing at the floor, as if in shame.

Syrio's eyes widened slightly, letting out a small 'ah' in realisation. A teasing smirk appeared on his weathered face.

"Ah… and who is this lucky lady?"

Edward could only scoff at the question.

"Someone who is promised to another. Besides, she hardly notices how I feel about her." Edward cryptically answered, a forlorn tone now showing in his answers. Why was he telling his _dancing master_ about this? What was the point?

Syrio stepped closer to Edward, resting his frame on one of the pillars in the room. "I understand, boy." His voice was now warm, empathetic, and soft. "You would happily tell this girl how you feel, but your honour and respect for her betrothal, along with your lack of titles and such stops you from doing so."

Edward's eyes instantly met Syrio's, a sort of shock at the Braavosi's accurate description of his dilemma causing him to stare and dumbly nod.

"Aye... how do you understand? Did…. did it happen to you?"

Syrio's eyes took on a glassy, faraway gaze, clearly reminiscing. He slowly nodded, before closing his eyes, taking himself into his memories.

"Her name was Melira. She was….. so beautiful."

 _Was._ That piqued Edward's interest. Daring to ask more of Syrio's past, the words left his mouth before he could stop himself.

"What happened?"

Syrio opened his eyes, choosing to look at the floor for a few seconds, his face turning sad, regretful, before turning his gaze to meet Edward's.

"For as long as I could have remembered, I loved this girl. I wanted to marry her, more than anything else. Her family were well known and respected bankers, far more wealthy than my own family, and she had many men clawing each other's eyes out for her hand."

Syrio slowly sat down on the stairs in front of Edward, his back now turned to him. Edward chose to sit down next to him, patiently waiting for him to continue.

"But…. it was because of her status, that I didn't dare ask for her hand myself. I feared the rejection that she might give."

That struck a chord with Edward. He couldn't help but smile a wry, forlorn smirk at the similarity of his situation. Had his father or himself been landed, a castle or holdfast to the Cassel name, he would've already asked Lord Stark for Sansa's hand many months before.

"What did you do next?" Edward asked, a small sense of intrigue in his voice.

Syrio took this opportunity to stop staring in front of him and switch his gaze to look at Edward, a smirk appearing on his weathered face.

"I did nothing, boy. It was my sister who decided to act."

Edward nodded slowly, a gesture for Syrio to elaborate, which he did, casting his gaze out to the empty room in front of them, in an effort to envision his memories.

"She was much like Melira, my sister. Beautiful, fierce, respected and sought after. She was the eldest of us two, and when our father would die, she would inherit all his possessions and wealth. Our laws of inheritance are more equal than most of Westeros; boy or girl, the eldest inherits."

"A Rhoynar and Valyrian custom, I know. I read about it in my studies."

Syrio's brows raised, impressed. "Very good, well remembered. Where was I?"

"Your sister, she would inherit her father's belongings. You said she acted when you didn't."

"Ah, yes. My sister went to speak to Melira on my behalf, and came back with an answer."

Edward shuffled slightly, so that he was angled towards Syrio, before the Braavosi continued further, a small smile growing on his face.

"She told me that Melira was willing to accept a proposal from me on one condition; that I prove to her that I would be a worthy husband, considering that I would not inherit from my father. I then decided to win her hand by training to become the First Sword to the Sealord of Braavos…."

Edward smiled. "And you did. Did she accept?"

Syrio's smile dampened, turning to a grimace so quickly that Edward doubted he had ever smiled in the first place.

"She accepted….. But her father did not. He looked down upon my family, and rejected my proposal. And to rub salt in my wounds, he immediately married Melira to someone else, to prevent any chance of us being together."

Edward cast his gaze away from Syrio, feeling such sympathy for him. That was exactly what he was scared of, working so hard to gain respect and a name for himself, and to work up to proposing to Sansa, only for Lord or Lady Stark to instantly veto the engagement. Looking back at Syrio, Edward could only mutter a soft apology.

"I'm sorry that happened to you."

"Don't be. It is in the past, many years ago now. Besides, I had my training to focus on, and my father to look after."

"Was your father alright?"

Syrio could only shake his head. "He suffered from an illness that causes fainting spells, and difficulty breathing. It got worse over time. I could only make sure his passing was as painless as possible."

Edward remained in silence, taking in the story Syrio had been telling him, whilst also not knowing how to respond. It seemed that he didn't need to, as Syrio spoke up again, sorrow evident in his voice.

"I grieved for my father, as any loving son would, but my sister took it worst than most. I think the expectations of being the head of the family, and the marriage proposals that came with it, was a burden for her, and with me always training, she never had anyone to truly talk to. I feel ashamed, knowing that. Our family words are _'Strength from loyalty'_ , and I never helped her through her struggles, as she had done for me. I had gone against our words, and the Gods sought to punish me for it."

A single, solitary tear ran down Syrio's face, as he stared at nothing, his memories of days gone by being brought to the surface. Edward felt his own tears pricking at his eyes at the sadness of it all, but he swallowed hard, steeling himself.

"What happened to your sister?"

Syrio took a moment, wiping the tear from his face, before replying.

"Like I said, the Gods punished me. My sister left Braavos mere weeks after our father's funeral, and she never came back. I still don't know where she went, or where she is now. Without her, and with my lack of knowledge in my father's profession of banking, we lost most of our money, and I had to leave our family home."

Another small period of silence followed, Edward again lost for words, sadness at the fate that befell Syrio's family. In the back of his mind, however, a small voice urged him to enquire Syrio about his mother. It surely couldn't hurt to ask? If he didn't know her, surely it wouldn't cause any harm?

"Syrio…. I need to ask you something."

Syrio finally turned his head to look at Edward, who now was looking down at the floor himself, clearly in mental debate with his thoughts.

"Yes, Captain?" he replied, giving Edward permission to speak what was on his mind, paying attention.

Edward chose not to speak at first. Reaching his hand under his leather armour jerkin and shirt, he took off what looked like a necklace. The Cassel stared at the ruby set into the pendant, admiring its beauty, before closing his hand around it, as words from his mouth started to explain.

"Since I was a small boy, I've had to grow up without my mother. She died of a fever when I was 4. It hurts that I barely have any memories of her, and my father hardly speaks about her, so I… I don't even know her."

Edward chose this moment to unwrap his hand from the necklace, holding it out on the flat of his palm so Syrio could see it. Edward continued to stare at it as he explained further, a small smile appearing.

"A few weeks ago, my father gave me this pendant, along with a letter, written by my mother to me. She told me who she was, where she came from, and how she met my father. This pendant was given to me, as the eldest child, to bring good fortune to me, at least that's what my mother said in the letter. She said her family were from Braavos, and I just wanted to ask you if you knew her, or could least translate the words on the back of this thing….. Syrio?"

As Edward was finishing explaining, he turned to look at Syrio, to gauge his reaction, to see what he made of it, but he didn't expect this master warrior to be staring so intently at the pendant as if it were the only source of light in a world full of darkness. If someone simply took an outside glance at Syrio's face, they'd probably think someone had just killed a dog in front of him, considering that the Braavosi man had a look of pure shock on his face, his eyes wider than anything, his mouth agape, as he simply stared at the pendant.

Silence reigned for a while, until Syrio stretched out one of his now shaking hands, in silent request for the pendant. Edward gave him it, watching in concern and confusion as he continued to inspect and stare at the item as if were infinitely more precious.

"This…. cannot be possible…" Syrio strangled out, words eluding him out of astonishment at what he held in his hand. Now shaking his head in disbelief, he finally took his eyes away from the pendant, to look at Edward, gesturing to the pendant as he then spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "This necklace…. belonged to my sister…. It was my family's necklace for centuries…."

As soon as Syrio revealed the reason for his shock and surprise, it was Edward's turn to have his eyes widen, in sudden and crashing realisation. The Cassel looked at the pendant.

"If that was your sister's…."

He looked back at Syrio, who was now looking at Edward with dawning comprehension. Edward gazed at the pendant again, then back at Syrio, as he carefully put the pieces together, remembering parts of his mother's letter.

 _I was born and raised in the Free City of Braavos….. My brother stayed…. to become First Sword…. The pendant has been in the family for hundreds of years…._

"You're the brother…. The one who stayed…. Your sister was my…. my…."

Edward could barely speak, his head was spinning as everything clicked into place. Syrio seemed to be the same, as his eyes were swimming with the new revelations. He eventually looked straight into Edward's eyes, now seeing the same hazel brown eyes that he had seen countless times before in another person.

Syrio decided to speak up, finally voicing the discovery that the two had figured out, his voice barely above a disbelieving whisper.

"You're Alyssa's son…. blood of my blood…."

Before Edward could even start to process what he had just found out, footsteps alerted him to the presence of another. Snapping his head towards the direction of the door to the right of him, one of Lord Stark's guards was there, a man by the name of Dorin, if Edward remembered correctly.

"Vice-Captain?"

Mentally retreating from the stupor of disbelief, Edward focused on what news Dorin had in store for him, urging his mouth to work and form a reply.

"Yes, Dorin? Is it about Arya?"

"Yes, Vice-Captain, she was found in the courtyard, and is with Lord Stark now."

Edward breathed a sigh of relief at the news. Nodding his thanks, and sending the guard on his way, noting to himself that it still felt weird for experienced, older men to be addressing him as their superior, he turned back to Syrio, who was now wearing a smile that accentuated the lines and wrinkles around his eyes, as if he had not worn such a smile in so long.

A brief moment of silence existed between the two now-family members, but not an uncomfortable one. Edward was the first to break it, a question desperate to get out in his mind.

"How did you not know what happened to my mother? Did she not write to you back home?"

Syrio nodded in understanding of the question. He stood up and began pacing, finding an answer.

"As I said earlier, I had no time to spend with her, and I suppose she took my inability to talk to her as an unwillingness to talk to her. I have spent all my days wishing I could have seen her again."

Edward nodded in understanding this time, at Syrio's answer and explanation. For a brief second, sadness, and a hint of guilt tugged at his mind.

"I'm sorry. If my mother hadn't run off and got married to my father, and had me, perhaps you could've seen her again."

"Don't you ever think that, my boy. Alyssa may be gone, but her own flesh and blood stands before me," Syrio iterated to Edward, pride starting to well in his tones. " _My_ flesh and blood. You are as much a Forel as a Cassel, my dear boy. Perhaps it is I who should be sorry. Had I known of your birth, I would have come to Winterfell to see you at once, and you would have known of your mother's heritage and family sooner."

"There's nothing to forgive, Syrio. My father was responsible for not telling me of my mother, and both were responsible for not telling you about me. You are not to blame."

Tears started to well up in Syrio's eyes, new-found familial love and emotion the cause of it. Stepping towards his nephew, he grasped his shoulders in a warm embrace, before his smile grew from ear to ear.

"You are a handsome boy, Edward, a quick and agile warrior for your height. I am so happy to have a nephew who has his father's knack for warfare and swordplay, and his mother's wit and looks. Your mother would be even more proud of you than I."

This time, Edward couldn't stop a tear-filled grin from permeating his face, a slight blush at Syrio's compliments appearing too.

"Thank you…. Uncle." Edward half-thanked, half-teased Syrio, which brought laughs from them both.

"What's happened to make you two so emotional?"

The sudden entrance of Arya startled the two, whipping their gaze towards the young Stark, allowing them to get a good look of the girl. Her clothes were slightly ripped, covered in dirt and mud and _Gods knows what was causing that smell_ , whilst her hair was matted, knotted and a complete mess. Edward could barely stifle another laugh at the sight of Arya, imagining the conversation she probably had with the City Watch guards as she tried to get in.

The laughing was contagious, as even Syrio couldn't help but try to suppress a snort of amusement, the scene made all the funnier with Arya being oblivious to her state, shown by the serious, slightly annoyed look on her face as she watched her friend and instructor laugh at her.

"What's funny?"

* * *

"It won't take more than an hour, but as you please."

Ned couldn't help but be intrigued at what Baelish had in store for him. A part of him told him that he should ignore the immense temptation to finally discover the truth behind Jon Arryn's death, and continue preparing to leave the capital for Winterfell. After all, he was no longer Hand, and a man with no purpose in King's Landing often ended up being victim to those who possessed it.

But still, it would only take an hour….

Ned stopped packing his things and strode towards Jory stood at the door, Baelish waiting knowingly outside the study.

"Round up all the men we have, and station them outside the girls' chambers. Tell Edward he is in charge until I return. Who are your best two swords?"

"Heward, and Wyl." Jory replied.

"Find them, and meet me at the stables. Find Edward as well, and let him know of my instructions."

Jory nodded, and made his way to find Edward first, as Lord Stark made his way with Baelish.

* * *

" **Kustikanay…. Kustikanie….** "

" **Kustikāne hen pazavorve** …. It means 'Strength from loyalty'. My mother's family's words."

Sansa had a great beaming smile on her face as Edward had told her of Syrio, and how they were family. They were sitting next to one another on her bed, in her room, catching up with each other after the two had finished packing Sansa's belongings for the trip back to Winterfell, with the rest of the Household Guard stationed outside the two Stark girls' rooms. Sansa had told Edward of the tourney that had concluded the previous day, and how the two Cleganes had fought each other like giants among mortal men. Edward had visibly winced at the part where the Mountain had decapitated his horse after losing though, slightly glad he hadn't been there.

After the young Stark had finished her story of the tourney, Edward had proceeded to let her know about Syrio, and how they found out their shared blood through Edward's mother, Alyssa. Sansa truly was happy for her friend, she knew how badly Edward wanted to know about his mother, so this revelation, along with the letter a few weeks ago, had filled her with joy (On a slightly related note, Edward speaking Valyrian had set off a small amount of butterflies in her stomach….).

However, there wasn't much else that made her feel happy. As had become the norm, Joffrey was ignoring her, and on the very few times they had spoken, it was brief, and often the Prince was rude or obnoxious. At this point, Sansa had come to expect it, but it still didn't take away how hurt and sad it made her feel. She wondered whether her father resigning as Hand and them leaving the capital was a blessing in disguise; her dreams of becoming Queen were rapidly becoming not as important to her, compared to living in a potentially happy marriage. A marriage to Joffrey would not make her happy, she had agreed to herself.

Edward had noticed this, however. Judging by the surprisingly silent willingness to pack her things, and the sudden loss of a smile on her face as Sansa held his pendant in her hands, the Cassel was intrigued to learn what was happening.

"Hey, what's wrong, my Lady?" Edward asked, concerned, slightly teasing her to provoke her into speaking.

Sansa gazed forlorn and downcast at Edward's pendant, half enchanted by its beauty, half wondering whether to tell him or not of Joffrey. She wasn't so naive to not notice how jealous Edward was of the Prince, and the irate envy it brought out in him. She remembered the dark look he had on his face that day on the Kingsroad, when Joffrey tormented him. Although, she did still feel guilt at not siding with Edward when the accusations came forth at him, and he was her most trusted friend after all.

"It's Joffrey…. he's…. he is…."

"Being Joffrey?"

Edward's snarky, deadpan response caused Sansa to spurt out in giggles that evolved into genuine laughter, whilst she eventually nodded in agreement once she had calmed.

Edward simply sighed, a smile on his face not because of his humour, but because of the reaction of Sansa to it, and the beautiful smile on her own face. However, his smile faded, and his face morphed into a slightly serious look, as he gazed at her with an emotion Sansa could've sworn was disbelief.

"How could he not want you, Sansa?"

Sansa's smile immediately dropped, and she instantly caught Edward's gaze. In the previous times Edward had spoken to Sansa about his inability to comprehend how Joffrey could hate or dislike or not be interested in the Stark girl, he had done so as a compliment, as a way to make Sansa feel better or to lighten the mood. This time, however, it caught Sansa off guard with how _immensely sincere_ it was.

The way he had said the question, sounded as if he was not just being rhetorical, but genuinely, seriously…. meant it?

Daring to keep her eyes locked with Edward's, she could see affection and care, mixed with a strong emotion she couldn't quite figure out in his hazel eyes, yet they burned with an intensity she had never seen before. In fact, it served to catch her in a trance, unable to tear her eyes away from those green and brown pools, and also increased the amount of those _damn_ butterflies in her abdomen. Sansa wondered why she was feeling like this, under the intensity of Edward's gaze, and why, by all the Gods, was she feeling like this now?

It wasn't as if she hadn't looked into Edward's eyes in the past, although she absently wondered if she had done so with their faces and bodies being in such close proximity to each other before….

It also didn't help that Edward was clean shaven, with his trademark scent of peppermint and freshly forged steel assaulting her nostrils, deepening the trance even further. _Gods, the woman who marries him will be lucky…._

Edward couldn't help but be intoxicated by Sansa's sweet scent of pine and crisp frost, especially since he was merely _inches_ away from those sharp, cool cerulean eyes, her pink lips, her unblemished, porcelain skin. Still lost in each other's gaze and smell, with the ability to speak temporarily lost, Edward slowly, hesitantly, reached over to softly wrap his right hand over Sansa's left, the hand that held his pendant, and felt a rush of warm adrenaline when he felt her reciprocate the gesture, moving her other hand to gently squeeze his other free hand.

Edward could feel his heart racing, whilst his lips parted slightly as he began to breathe slightly heavily, his head starting to spin at the realisation that _this was actually happening_. He could also notice in the edge of his vision that Sansa was breathing just as heavily, no doubt she was the same. _Gods, that bastard Joffrey has no idea how lucky he is..._

Both Stark and Cassel had no idea how the atmosphere had become so intimate, or heated the way it was there, in Sansa's chambers. They didn't know why their breaths had become slightly heavy, or why the smell of each other's scents were clouding their minds like a haze, or why they both thought each other's eyes were more beautiful than any painting or tapestry ever seen…. but it felt so right.

Edward seriously debated inching his face towards hers, hoping that she would accept and do the same, knowing what they would end up doing, but before he could do so, a knock sounded at his door, completely smashing the moment into oblivion.

Edward and Sansa regained their senses and pulled away from each other, although both of them instantly missed the feel of holding one another's hands. Edward, annoyed by the universally bad timing, answered the knock with a quick opening of the door, and a slightly sharp "Yes?"

"It's been an hour, Vice-Captain. Lord Stark has yet to return." Dorin, the lieutenant who had informed Edward of Arya's safe return, reported.

Edward nearly scoffed at the reason for ruining the _perfect moment_ with Sansa. Lord Stark had been out for an hour, so what?

"Why are you informing me of this? Are they not supposed to be out?"

The worried, and slightly fearful look on Dorin's face as he replied sent a churning of concern in Edward's stomach.

"Lord Stark said that he would be gone for an hour at the most, Vice-Captain. He seemed very serious about it."

Lord Stark was normally serious, Edward mused to himself. However, it did explain why pretty much all the household guard were stationed in the Tower of the Hand, and why Jory had little time to properly tell Edward of what was going on. More fear crept into Edward's mind.

Something felt off.

"Get Howard and Willem, and get four horses at the stables, I'll meet you there. The rest of the guards protect the girls."

"Aye, Vice-Captain, understood."

With that, Edward shut Sansa's door, and turned to face her again, an apologetic look on his face.

"I'm sorry my Lady, I have to go."

Sansa, looking a little less flustered than when they were both inches apart, nodded in understanding, before standing to give Edward back his pendant, a small, cute smile adorning her face.

"To keep you safe, Vice-Captain." Sansa half-teased, as Edward took the pendant and gave a small bow.

"My Lady honours me with her favour." Edward replied as he put on the necklace, tucking it safely under his shirt.

Before Edward left, however, he gently, hesitantly, took Sansa's hand to put a tender, yet lingering kiss on it, that slightly reignited the intimate mood the two had shared moments before, with Sansa sucking in a small gasp at the tingling feeling the kiss left on her hand.

Edward gathered his sword belt, put it on, and gave one last smile to the Stark girl, before exiting to find his men to rendezvous with Lord Stark.

Sansa lay down on her bed, unable to stop a wild grin forming as she felt the back of her hand where Edward had kissed it. Suddenly, and unsurprisingly, she didn't feel as bad about losing Joffrey as she had done before.

* * *

Edward trotted down on his horse towards Littlefinger's brothel, confident that, considering Lord Stark had gone with Baelish, he would be there. The worry in his gut had lessened somewhat, as he assured himself it was just a simple mistake on Lord Stark's part, but then again, Lord Stark had never made mistakes such as being late for things like this…

The same worry was clearly affecting the three other guards, as the normally talkative Northerners were silent as the grave, the only sounds being cast down the street were the background noise of citizens and the clip-clop of hooves on the cobblestones.

As they came down the street, the increased presence of the gold-cloaks only made that fear worse, although Edward reasoned it was due to the brothels that lined the street, rather than any actual disturbance.

Despite that, all reasoning was thrown out the window when they came across the scene that appeared before them, outside Littlefinger's brothel. Several bodies lay there, both Lannister and Stark guards, victims of a skirmish that no doubt occurred.

 _Why?_ Edward could only question to himself as he and the three other guards dismounted their horses and walked aimlessly amongst the bodies, in clear shock at the scene of death in front of them. However, a cry from Willem caught his attention.

"Vice-Captain, Lord Stark, he's moving!"

Edward saw Ned Stark collapsed on the ground, regaining consciousness, a spear jammed into his right knee. Edward, Dorin, and Willem immediately rushed over to their Lord, shock and paralysis gone, checking for any other injuries, whilst Howard checked the other bodies for signs of life.

"We need to get the spear out of his leg." Dorin suggested.

"No, we need to bring him back to the Red Keep, then we can worry about the spear." Willem argued back.

"No, Dorin is right, Willem. We need to break the spear. It may cause more blood loss, but it'll be easier for us to move him, and we need to bandage the wound up when we do," Edward finalised, siding with Dorin, before addressing Howard whilst still focusing his sight on Lord Stark's wound.

"Howard, get back to the Keep, and find Captain Jory. Tell him to get 20 men and arrive here-"

"Vice-Captain…. Captain Jory…. He's…"

"He's what?" Edward asked, impatient to know what Howard was saying. He flicked his gaze over to where Howard was, standing over one of the Stark guard bodies. Howard looked at Edward with a look of pure sympathetic agony, knowing what the young Cassel was to find out.

Edward gave the tiniest look of confusion at Howard's expression, before stumbling slowly over to the body he was next to. Long, brown hair, short stubble, a scar over one eye, and a knife in the other. As soon as he saw these features, Edward instantly recognised who the dead man was, and he felt a wave of numbness overcome him, as his ears blocked out most of the noise around him, serving to muffle the sounds of Willem, Dorin and Howard as they tended carefully to Lord Stark.

Edward looked at the deceased Jory, not even _feeling_ the tears as they started to trail down his face, not bothering to notice Dorin's hands on his shoulder in an attempt at assurance as he slumped down to his knees. Edward's own hands reached out to lightly caress Jory's face, in an inferior attempt to try and wake him up, all the while knowing there was nothing he could do. Sobs started to wrack his frame, yet he couldn't even feel those.

Edward's eyes moved across his beloved cousin's face, to the knife still embedded in his skull, the cause of Jory's death. The handle was protruding out from his eye socket, but Edward wasn't focusing on that. He was focused on the handle itself; gold designs, intricate metal work, weaving through the hilt until it formed on the pommel, the head of a lion.

 _Lion… Lannister…_

It was at that moment, that numbness and the beginnings of grief were temporarily put aside, to allow a new wave of emotion to course through his body; pure, raw, vehement wroth.

* * *

 **My, my. This has taken** _ **far too long**_ **. I am so sorry for leaving you all waiting, but I stick by my promise; I am not leaving this story to waste.**

 **I admit, this is only about 6000 words, and considering it's been 5 months since chapter 9, it should be longer. However, I felt like this is the best way to end the chapter. Trust me, it's best that I leave it like this, otherwise I'd be stuck on it forever. Because I just needed to get this chapter out of the way, some of this chapter might be convoluted or might just generally suck, but I'll leave you guys to decide that.**

 **So then! Like the chapter title says, Edward has gained a family member, and lost one. Very mixed emotions for him right now, especially since he had that sudden, yet built up moment with Sansa, who, unlike herself in the show, is actually not that opposed to leaving the capital, and subsequently Joffrey. Perhaps, the seeds are sown for her to start dreaming of another…. (But don't worry, things aren't going to be going quickly for Sansard, a** _ **lot**_ **of shit is about to happen)**

 **So, Syrio is Edward's uncle, on his mother's side. Quite a few of you already guessed that beforehand, which I applaud you all for, even though it was a tad more obvious than I meant it to be. However, this revelation will end up being quite important for Edward, and his development into the later seasons. Plus, I wanted to give Syrio more of a backstory, because I loved him in the show.**

 **Anyway, I hope you guys manage to enjoy this more than I did, and I will see you guys in half a year!**

 _ **Next chapter hint:**_ **Ned Stark's attack reverberates across Westeros, and the Capital. Edward deals with his grief, Robb thinks on possible action, whilst Ned discovers the secret of the lionesses' pups.**

 **Love you all,**

bobberoo98


	11. Chapter 11 - Grief and Turmoil

**A/N: Hi everyone, me again, sorry for the delay. Let's get straight into things.**

War Sage: **Thank you very much, so glad to hear from you again!**

Mpowers045: **I'd disagree, but your words mean so much, thank you!**

CunningSlytherin: **Thank you! It's so good to hear from you again, you'll find out about Edward's reaction in this chapter, so enjoy!**

Tunak23: **Wow. That's truly so nice of you to say that, man. I really appreciate your review, probably one of the most humbling and inspiring that I've read so far. I'm honoured to have you as a reader.**

 **Now then, on with the story. Thanks to all who follow, favourite and review this story, I can't do it without you guys. Enjoy, don't forget to follow and post a review.**

* * *

Chapter 11 - Grief and Turmoil

Edward held the knife in his hands, as he sat in his quarters, within the barracks that held the remaining Stark household guard. He had finally stopped crying by this point, though he hadn't wept in front of anyone. He had waited until he was alone in his room before he let his tears fall in mourning for Jory.

It had been roughly two or three days after the attack, he couldn't tell, but Edward had spent those days alone in his room, his grief overwhelming him. Thankfully, he had managed to pull himself together enough to help bring Lord Stark back to the Red Keep, where he was currently recovering. After that, however….

The dead Stark guards, Jory included, had been moved to the barracks, their bodies having been properly cleaned and looked after. Once Lord Stark would be up on his feet again, preparations would hopefully be made to send the bodies to the North, for burial.

This meant that Edward now inherited the position of Captain of the Guard, although he had hardly thought about it, and when the young Cassel did, it filled him with more grief at how he gained it, and fear at the prospect of leading the men. He was only 16, and yet he now had more on his shoulders than ever.

Despite his wallowing in sadness and self-pity, Edward felt angry. He was holding the knife that had killed his beloved cousin, looking it over, and determining that only Jaime Lannister could have wielded such an unnecessarily extravagant weapon. The gold designed hilt of the dagger was moulded into the shape of a lion's head, and considering there were Lannister dead amongst the bodies of the skirmish, Edward was convinced that the Kingslayer had killed Jory.

As mentioned before, he had finally stopped crying, but his tears of grief were replaced by the silent brooding of anger. A melancholy thought that passed through his head had remarked how this is how Jon must feel, considering he mainly brooded and sulked in the corner at Winterfell when they were children.

But even then, none of the anger or grief mattered, compared to the crushing emptiness he felt at Jory's loss. His cousin was more like a brother to him, the closest blood relative to a sibling he had. Numbness smothered his mourning and rage like a wet cloth over fire, leaving Edward simply feeling like a shell, unable to process what had happened.

A knock sounded at the door. Gods, if that was any more of the guards' pathetic attempts to cheer him up…..

Edward strode over to his door in frustration at being disturbed from his silent mourning, leaving the Kingslayer's knife on the stand next to his bed, and opened the door, prepared to shout at whoever it was to leave. No guard stood in front of him, but a red haired girl that had so many times brought a smile to his face. Sympathy and concern shone in her cerulean eyes, accentuated by the worried furrowing of her brows.

"Sansa…" Edward could only whisper in surprise at seeing the Stark girl in the barracks, in front of him.

"Edward…. They said…. about Jory…." Sansa replied, not wanting to finish her sentence out of pain for her friend.

Edward's face hardened, desperately not wanting to shed any tears. But Sansa could already tell he had been crying, judging by the bloodshot, puffy red eyes he had. Before she could completely take Edward in with her eyes, the Cassel stood aside awkwardly at the entrance, a silent request for Sansa to enter his room, which she did, shutting the door behind her.

Sansa took this time to fully look at Edward, as he sat down on his bed, returning to his sitting position before she had knocked. She could only think of how different he looked compared to normal. He was a _mess_. His normally unruly, but well tended brown hair was knotted and slightly greasy from lack of wash, his stubble was now visible, clearly not trimmed well, and she could swear he was wearing the same clothes as the last time they spoke, which was two or three days ago. Overall, he looked horrible. Sansa's heart became heavy with pity and hurt for Edward.

But that wasn't the worst. Sansa knelt down in front of Edward, who was leaning his elbows on his lap, simply looking down at the floor, his hair partially falling down his face. Sansa's attention to her friend couldn't make him change his gaze, so Sansa decided to break the silence between them.

"Edward? Can you look at me?"

Slowly, reluctantly, the now Captain of the Guard raised his head, so that Sansa could see his face. The young Stark girl almost recoiled at the sight of his eyes. Whereas normally, his hazel coloured orbs would shine, full of energy and slight mischief, they were dulled, barely showing any energy, or mischief, or _anything_. They looked like they had the life sucked out of them, such was Edward's pain at the loss of Jory. The dark purple bags under his eyes clearly showed he hadn't been sleeping much, if at all. Combined with the bloodshot whites of his eyes, he looked like he had been through his own personal hell.

Again, Sansa's heart sank for Edward. Granted, she had her own problems right now, due to the fact that her own father was prone in bed after being injured, and the ensuing aftermath of the skirmish, but she couldn't imagine the loss that Edward was suffering. She knew how much closer than a cousin Jory was to Edward. The fact that she knew him well too only made her more sad.

"Edward, I'm so sorry…." Sansa spoke, tears of her own welling up in her eyes, as she offered her condolences to the Cassel.

A few seconds of silence passed. Before Sansa wondered if he had actually heard her, Edward finally spoke.

"Whenever my father wasn't there to look after me…. if he was busy mourning my mother, or training recruits, Jory always looked after me. Always…."

Edward's voice sounded gravelly, as if he hadn't spoken for a good while. Yet, Sansa could feel the emotion in his voice, and in response, she tentatively, yet firmly, squeezed Edward's hands with her own, a silent message of support and comfort. She felt him half-heartedly squeeze back, but considering how deeply in grief he was, Sansa didn't really care. Sensing he was about to continue, she remained silent.

"...and when he needed me…. I wasn't there for him…." Edward finally met Sansa's gaze, newly made tears starting to fall down his face. The look of pure guilt and agony that Sansa saw made her heart break.

"...my cousin died far from home, surrounded by enemies…. and I w- I wasn't there to protect him…"

Sansa let go of one of Edward's hands and instantly moved her free right hand to gently cup Edward's face, caressing his cheek with her thumb, in an effort to calm him. Edward slightly recoiled from the gesture, slightly surprised by Sansa's sudden bravery, but after a second he leaned his face back into Sansa's caring touch. In truth, Sansa was surprised too, but considering the two nearly _kissed_ the other day, before everything had happened, and the fact that she couldn't bear to see Edward like this, she had no problem with it.

"Jory knew what he was getting into, Edward. You know this, and you also know he wouldn't want you to grieve like this, alone for days without any support. You shouldn't think like that. Besides, if you had been there, who knows what could have happened to you. There was nothing you could do-" Sansa tried to assure Edward.

"Nothing? If I had been there, Jory might not have died!" the young Cassel suddenly erupted.

Edward stood up, abruptly forcing Sansa to stand as well, and strode to the other side of the room, before continuing his outburst, all the while staring at Sansa with a mixture of fury and disgust.

"How can you say that? I absolutely could have done something, but no, instead of being there to save him and Lord Stark, I was sat here, obeying orders, talking to you about that insufferable prick Joffrey for the _thousandth time_ , whilst the closest blood relative I had to a brother was slaughtered in the streets of this shitpile of a city!"

It was an understatement to say that Sansa was taken back by the sudden rant that her friend had just had. It startled her, but she held it back, knowing that most likely, Edward was fuelled by his pain at the loss of his cousin. But it didn't stop her from feeling a little stung at what he said. She knew what he meant when he spoke about Joffrey. He was putting blame on her, as if she was the one who prevented Edward from saving Jory. A slight indignant anger rose up at that. All she was doing was trying to comfort Edward, she didn't deserve this.

"You don't know how sorry I am for your loss, Edward, I cared for Jory too. But just because you're grieving, I don't think you should be blaming me for it. You had orders from him and my father to stay and guard Arya and me too-"

"Aye, I did have orders. But if I wasn't so busy talking to you, if I had realised something was wrong instead of focusing on my feelings, on _you_ , then Jory might still be alive, and your father might not have been injured!"

Sansa would have scoffed in disbelief at what she was hearing, but she remained silent, a look of confusion on her face. "What do you mean by 'on me'? What feelings?"

She saw Edward's face turn from anger to a dawning look of comprehension, but the kind that one wears when they've accidentally spilled a dark, untold secret that no-one else should know. The only time she could remember such a look was when the Forresters visited Winterfell two years ago, when Mira, the eldest daughter, had accidentally revealed to Sansa of her crush on Edward himself, ironically.

 _Could it be something similar?_ Her mind dared to wonder. She couldn't lie, what with Joffrey's inability to notice her, combined with Edward's steadfast care and concern for her, not to mention what happened between them last time, what had _almost_ happened, she was starting to feel something for Edward that she never thought she could feel for him.

Recognising that neither of them had spoken for a good half a minute, and just as Sansa was about to break that silence with a hesitant question, Edward's expression left almost as soon as it came, once again replacing itself with heated frustration and anger.

"Nothing! It doesn't matter, you're betrothed to the Prin- just go!" Edward spouted, tripping over his words before he could dig the hole even more and reveal even more of his feelings. He opened the door, a silent order to leave his room directed at Sansa, who now scoffed in disbelief at the change and escalation in mood.

"What?"

"I want you to leave me alone. Just go." Edward begged, his voice now more calm, but firm, hiding a flurry of volatile emotions, leaving no room for argument.

"But- I- you-" Sansa stepped towards Edward, hoping to defuse his angry mood, but it only made things worse.

"GET OUT!"

Before the abrupt shout even stopped reverberating from the walls, her legs were carrying her out of Edward's room in a flash. She couldn't even hear the slam of his door behind him, nor the concerned addresses of 'My Lady' from the rest of the guards in the barracks. She didn't stop until she had reached her room, and shut the door behind her. It wasn't until then that she realised that her hands were slightly shaking, that she felt the hot streaks of tears falling down her porcelain cheeks, that she felt the warm, fluttering sensation of care, concern, and affection for Edward overwhelmingly replaced with the cold, sharp feeling of fear at the pure rage she had _felt_ from Edward's last two words uttered to her not even moments before. She cried herself to sleep that night, not knowing what she had done for the gods to punish her like this.

* * *

"When are you gonna tell him?"

As Robb watched Bran ride his horse around the Wolfswood, a look of pure happiness on his little brother's face for the first time in weeks, he almost ignored Theon's poignant question.

"Not now." Robb replied. He had just gotten a raven from the capital about the skirmish that had injured his father and killed some of his guard, including Jory. Inside, he felt angry that the Lannisters would dare attack the Hand of the King in the streets of King's Landing, but he also felt a sense of mourning for Jory, who had helped train him. _Gods_ , he wondered, _I hope Edward is alright._

The duties of being the Lord of Winterfell was straining on him, always having to sign certain accounts, write letters to any lord, hold court with the smallfolk, never getting a moment's rest to see how Bran and Rickon were before he was summoned by Maester Luwin to sort out one thing or another.

Often, he would spend most nights awake, staring up at the ceiling, desperately missing his family, but most of all it was Jon and Edward who he longed to be with again. He missed Arya's antics, and Sansa's smiles, but it was the clashing of swords with the two brothers he had bonded with most during his life that he really missed.

He missed Jon's brooding, and Edward's obvious yet genuine pining for Sansa, and the opportunities to joke about them both, often with them, that would end with laughter and smiles all round.

"Blood for blood. You need to make the Lannisters pay for Jory and the others." Theon insisted.

But things had changed. Things were changing. He had found himself in this situation, seriously considering whether he should call his father's banners and ride for the Westerlands, to seek retribution for the attack in the capital.

But still, he was unsure, despite agreeing inside at what Theon had said. Tywin Lannister was not the sort of man to be merciful if you rose up against him or his family. He had heard rumours of several incidents where some noble families sought to undermine him, and all their rebellious notions would vanish when a minstrel, sent from Casterly Rock, would play a certain song to them; a reminder of what happened to the Reynes and Tarbecks when they dared challenge the Old Lion.

Robb had found himself at a crossroads, unsure of how to act, especially if things escalated further.

"You're talking about war." Robb said cautiously, a hint of fear at the prospect of such an event.

"I'm talking about justice." Theon countered. Robb sighed silently. He was tired of the same conflict in his mind. War or peace? Justice or injustice? It was difficult to decide. He just hoped Father would approve of the decision he would eventually have to make.

"Only the Lord of Winterfell can call in the bannermen and raise an army." Robb argued half-heartedly.

"A Lannister put a spear through your father's leg." Theon stated, incredulous at Robb's indecision and, truthfully, pathetic argument. "The Kingslayer rides for Casterly Rock where no-one can touch him-"

"You want me to march on Casterly Rock?" Robb challenged his ironborn friend, getting increasingly annoyed at Theon's apparent eagerness for a fight.

"You're not a boy anymore, Robb! They attacked your father, they've already started the war! It is your duty to defend and represent your House when your father can't!" Theon stated, appealing to the honorable, dutiful side of Robb. However, the Stark heir gave Theon a bitter look.

"And it's not your duty, because it's not your House." Robb answered back with venom evident in his voice.

Theon was preparing a reply when he noticed that it was surprisingly silent. Robb had noticed the same, as they looked around themselves, fear spiking in their guts at the disappearance of a certain Stark.

"Where's Bran?" Robb questioned, panic clear in his words.

* * *

Edward stood before his bedroom door, nervous, and wringing his hands out of habit. He had washed himself, his face shaven and his hair clean and less unkempt than before, having been swept backwards to prevent it getting in his face. He wore his studded leather jerkin armour over clean clothes, whilst he could feel his mother's pendant against his chest.

He had a lot to apologise for. In his grief and guilt, he had neglected his duty and his fellow guardsmen, not even bothered to leave his room to check on Lord Stark or Syrio, but perhaps worst of all, he had shouted at Sansa and driven her from him in her attempts to console him. Yes, he had many wrongs to make right, and it all started with opening his bedroom door.

He hadn't slept well last night, despite being exhausted from crying and anger, but judging by the muffled noises of the household guard in the main hall of the barracks, it was morning, or close enough to it. _Perhaps breakfast is still being served,_ Edward silently hoped, and on cue, his stomach gave a growl in response. Using that as a sign he should go and eat some breakfast at the very least, Edward gathered his courage and opened his door, and started walking through to the main hall.

It wasn't too big, but considering there were just under 50 of Lord Stark's guard, it suited them fine. There were fine, stained glass windows letting in the sun from outside, a nice, glowing fire in the hearth, on the other end of where Edward was currently standing in the entrance to the quarters. Most of the guard was in here; a lot were eating the hearty porridge oats that was the option for breakfast today, and whilst there were many southern fruits and other light foods available, the Northerners still stuck to the staple breakfast that had helped to keep them well fed for the day, and kept them warm in the cold nights on duty back at Winterfell.

 _Old habits die hard, I guess._

Looking across, Edward could see that some of the guards were engaging in conversation, most likely over the schedules they had for the day, and who most likely had the short straw in guard post duty for the day. Overall, the general background noise of the banter and laughs being shared before the day's work generated a homely buzz that would soothe the nerves and calm one down. However, it was the opposite effect for Edward, out of a feeling of guilt that he had lashed out at his fellow Northerners, now _his_ to command, when they were most likely mourning Jory too.

Another growl emanated from his stomach, reminding him of the increasingly tempting porridge that had his name on it, waiting for him at the end of the hall. Deciding to eat before making any apologies he started to walk over to the hearth, where the porridge was being served, by skirting along the walls, hoping not to be noticed. However, he heard a familiar voice call him before he even got half-way.

"Edward!"

 _Damn it_.

Dorin's surprised and relieved address from the benches behind the Cassel drew the attention of the entire room. All of the guards turned their curious and shocked eyes to Edward, who couldn't help but feel his face burn at the concentrated gazes. A few whispers were heard in the now deathly silent room between some of the men, no doubt concerning why their new captain had excused himself from his self-imposed isolation.

Dorin immediately sensed the awkward, uncomfortable silence brewing, and the way Edward looked as if he wanted to melt into the floor. He stood from his place on the benches, and strode over to his young Captain, stopping a yard from him, trying his best to calm Edward with a disarming and reassuring smile.

He bowed his head. "It's….good to see you Cap-"

" _Don't_ \- Don't….call me that. Please." Edward winced, squinting his eyes shut at the use of the title that belonged to his cousin, the only person who deserved it. Dorin noticed the guardsmen were staring at their exchange, knowing it was making Edward tense up at the unwanted attention.

"What are you all looking at? You look like a herd of fucking sheep who have been told that it's shearing day, sit down, and leave us be!"

Dorin's deep Northern voice commanded authority, as he was one of the more respected men in the household guard. In an instant, the buzz of chatter flooded the room again as the onlooking men returned to their business. Turning back to Edward again, who looked less tense and nervous than before, he gave another reassuring smile. He knew Jory well, and considered him a good friend. Jory's death had affected him, and the other men, greatly, but he couldn't believe how hard it had hit Edward. He knew how badly he felt, and therefore wanted to honour Jory's memory by making sure his flesh and blood was ready to assume his title.

"You hungry, lad?"

Edward simply nodded, trying to give a weak smile.

"Come on then. Let's get some grub down yer, you look famished."

Fast forward barely ten minutes later, and Edward had just finished his second bowl of porridge as if it were nothing. He sat opposite Dorin, who was giving constant looks over his shoulder, noticing how a lot of the men were doing the same to them.

"They want me to speak to them, don't they?" Edward asked, already knowing the answer, as he fidgeted with his thumbs.

"Aye. We've been like sheep with no wolf to herd them. It's been chaos. No-one has any idea what their schedules are. Captain Jory al- _would_ always sort out the timetables, who was doing which job and where. We've needed your leadership, Edward."

"I'm not a leader." Edward uttered, his voice almost a whisper, absent of confidence. His hair hung over his face as the young Cassel was only looking down at his now empty bowl. Dorin felt a spark of pity for the lad. Jory was supposed to live, so he could pass down more of his experience to his cousin, not die at the hands of a damn Lannister, and leave his successor in grief and turmoil.

Edward was not supposed to be like this, Dorin lamented.

"Edward." he tried to grab the new Captain's attention, receiving a small bit of eye contact. "Do you know how old Jory was when he was chosen as our Captain?"

A small shake of the head answered his question. "No."

"He was 17, a year older than you are. He was just as nervous and self-doubting as you are. But he showed promise, and he was a good person to everyone. Within a year, he was respected by everyone in the barracks, had good experience, and was a better man for it."

This revelation brought Edward's eyes to completely widen, and a small smile to form on the corner of his lips. "Really? I always thought it was because out of respect for my father that he was Captain."

"Of course not, we _all_ chose him to lead us, Edward. We believed in him and his ability, not just because your father was Master at Arms. He never believed us when we told him that, but he grew to be a fine Captain, a good soldier, and a great friend. We believe in _you_ now, Edward. Jory asked all of us about appointing you Vice-Captain, and we agreed, because you show the same promise. Not only that, you're his cousin, his natural heir, it only makes sense for you to lead us."

"You really think that of me?" Edward could only question the bearded Northerner with more disbelief at what he was hearing. He didn't know that Jory had asked his guardsmen if they would accept him into their ranks, even more so that they accepted wholeheartedly. It filled him with growing pride.

"Of course, lad! All Jory talked about when he was on duty with us was training with you. He's been grooming you for command, for his position. He wouldn't have it any other way, and neither would any of us. When he chose you for Vice-Captain, and for eventually succeeding him, we all did."

Dorin's words had sparked something in Edward that he hadn't felt before. He felt it flow through his body, instilling him with confidence and warmth. Before he knew it, this feeling had made him rise from his seat, standing to his full height, his chest slightly out, a reinvigorated look in his eyes, carrying the same emotion; determination. This instantly caught the attention of all the guards in the room, noticing Edward looking like himself again and more. His very presence right now made their heads lift.

Feeling the need to address them, Edward felt himself speak before he could even formulate what to say, yet it came naturally to him, letting his slowly restoring confidence influence him.

"I am sorry, to all of you, for not being there to lead you. I acted selfishly, and I did not rise to do my duty. But I will rise now. I understand that I am young, and inexperienced, but I've been told by Dorin that our late and beloved Captain Jory was the same when he was chosen to lead you. I ask now, that you follow me, and help me to lead the household guard with honour that my cousin would be proud of. I ask, that you choose me to be your new Captain, and I swear by the Old Gods and New, that I will try my best to live up to Jory's memory. What do you say?"

Silence befell the room for a short while, making Edward nervous that they would reject his request to command. However, these fears were put aside as Dorin stood, raising his fist to his chest in salute, a broad smile on his weathered face. "Just as it is right for the Starks to rule from Winterfell, so it is for a Cassel to be Captain of the Guard!" His voice booming across the room. "I am at your service, Captain!"

The moment he hailed Edward, all the men followed in tow, raising their fists to their chests, crying out addresses of "Captain!" to the young Cassel, who, standing proud, for the first time in what felt like forever, couldn't help but wear a beaming smile on his face from ear to ear.

* * *

 _One down, two to go._

Edward had just left the barracks after receiving proclamations of loyalty from the guardsmen, _his_ guardsmen. He had also appointed Dorin as his Vice-Captain, who definitely helped Edward to sort out the register and jobs for the day, for each of the guards. Having finished this, the young Captain decided that he had two more people to see, and seek forgiveness from.

He was now walking through the halls of the Tower of the Hand, heading up towards Lord Stark's room, where no doubt Eddard was lying prone in bed, nursing his injured leg. Edward shook the memories of that day away the best he could, Sansa's hurt expression and Jory's limp body still raw in his mind. Still, the high that he was on from being elected Captain had now faded, leaving only anxiety and sadness.

" _Seven Hells_! Don't start with her again! The girl will die, and I'll hear no more of it!"

King Robert's boisterous, booming voice carried outside Lord Stark's quarters to Edward, who was in the middle of the hallway, almost outside the door, which was being held open by Robert, giving one last talk to his best friend. Clearly, the fat Baratheon was irate, yet Edward knew that this was normal, as the King either seemed to be drunk, angry, depressed, or all three at any given time.

Edward stopped a few feet from the door, not wanting to intrude on his two lieges. He could see Robert throw something in Lord Stark's direction, most likely the Hand's badge of office, judging by the King's impulsive threat.

"Put on the badge. If you ever take it off again, I swear to the Mother I'll pin the damned thing on Jaime Lannister!"

It was at this moment that Edward had to almost duck out of the way of a seething King, remembering to bow his head in respect. Not that Robert would notice or care, angry as he was, and to be honest, Edward didn't care either. He had lost all respect for the King after seeing the shadow of himself that he had become, not to mention the small fact that he had ordered the Cassel's own arrest and execution, despite not a minute earlier judging that he was innocent.

 _Fucking Lannisters._

Edward walked inside, yet he was slightly hesitant as he crossed the threshold into Lord Stark's chambers. He felt guilty, seeing his liege lord in such a vulnerable state, and having not come to see him sooner.

"Edward? I hadn't expected you to visit."

The young Cassel looked at his lord, clearly in pain, his right leg heavily bandaged, his skin having a thin sheen of sweat upon it that was evidence of a small fever.

"My Lord," Edward bowed his head, "I've, um, I've come to see how you are…"

Ned noticed Edward's apprehensive glance at his bandaged knee. Whilst he wouldn't admit it out loud, Ned was in a lot of pain, yet he had refused milk of the poppy, not wanting to be drugged whilst the Lannisters were prowling about, and tensions were running high.

Lord Stark understood why Edward couldn't bring himself to look at him. Looking at his wound reminded him of his guilt and failure to protect his lord and Jory.

"I, uh…." Ned noticed a sniff from Edward, who was clearly emotional, "I'm sorry for not being there to defend you, my Lord. I should've came to see you sooner. Please, forgive me."

After a few seconds of silence, Edward dared to look up at his lord, who only wore a face of pity and sympathy for him. Lord Stark struggled to sit upright, eventually propping himself against the headboard of his bed.

"There's nothing to forgive, lad. If anyone should be apologising, it's me. I stood there and watched as Jory got killed by Ser Jaime. He didn't deserve to die like that. He was a good, loyal man to the end. I will organise to have him and the fallen buried at Winterfell with proper funerals."

Edward only nodded, his words failing him as he felt the onset of tears coming, however, he pushed them back, willing himself to stay strong. The silence was broken again by Ned, who inquired about Edward's position.

"I take it the guards elected you Captain?"

Another nod from Edward. "Aye…. they felt Jory would want me to be."

"I can agree, lad. You are just like him when he was your age. I know you'll be able to lead well. You have my full support, Captain."

Edward gave a small, proud smile at hearing Ned's blessing, and stood to attention.

"Thank you my Lord. I'll serve you proudly."

It was Ned's turn to give a smile, pained as it was from his injury.

"I have no doubt you will."

Edward noticed his lord's discomfort. He made to help him, but Ned waved him off.

"I'm alright, lad. I've had worse."

"Do you want me to fetch the Grand Maester, let him give you milk of the poppy?"

"No," Ned's stoic face and Northern tones did well to mask his pain, as he slowly sat up on the end of his bed, clutching his badge of office of the Hand. "King Robert has gone on a hunt. It falls to me to rule in his absence, as Hand. I will be holding court at midday. I want you to tell your men to double the guard outside my daughters' rooms and my solar."

Edward nodded with a quick address of "Yes, my Lord", before making his way out of Ned's room to carry out his orders, but was stopped by Ned before he left.

"Edward."

The Captain turned to face his Lord, who had managed to put on his leather armour jerkin, and was standing with the help of a small cane.

"Yes, Lord Stark?"

"When you've given these orders, report back to me. You're going to be my personal guard at court."

* * *

"They burned…. most everything in the Riverlands; our fields, our granaries…. our homes. They took our women, then they… took 'em again. When they was done, they butchered them as if they was animals..."

Edward felt huge pity and sympathy for the men standing in front of himself and Lord Stark. The Hand, who was accompanied by the Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish, and Grand Maester Pycelle as he sat on the Iron Throne, was clearly uncomfortable with the monstrous, ugly thing. Edward himself was standing on the steps before the throne, silently vigil as Lord Stark's personal guard, listening to the farmers from the Riverlands give their grievances to the Hand. Having listened to what they had claimed had happened, it did not sound like some petty squabble.

"...They covered our children in pitch…. And lit them on fire." The farmer who had been describing the atrocities carried out against them finished, bowing his head, whilst trying to halt the quivering of his lips in grief. Edward couldn't say he had felt more pity for someone before.

"Brigands, most likely." Pycelle concluded, a complete lack of interest evident in his voice, which annoyed Edward at the learned man's apathy.

The farmer spoke up again. "They weren't thieves, they didn't steal nothing!"

This intrigued Edward. If they weren't thieves, then why cause such death and destruction?

"They… they even left something behind, Your Grace…." The farmer continued, looking up and meeting Lord Stark's gaze, a sense of fear in his voice that made Edward's body unable to not feel a cold shiver at the goosebumps that ran down his neck and arms. The fellow farmers behind the man all shifted slightly, giving each other similar looks of fear.

However, Grand Maester Pycelle only served to add more annoyance to Edward, as he butted in, clearly grumpy, as Edward had discovered was the norm for the old, frail man.

"This is the King's Hand you're addressing, not the King. The King is hunting."

Ned gave a small glance at Pycelle, a little annoyed at him at interrupting the farmer. Turning his attention back to the Rivermen, one of the farmers from the back emptied a rather large sack of gutted fish before the steps to the throne. Gasps and groans of disgust were heard from the crowd surrounding the court at the sight of the dead aquatic animals lying before them.

Edward himself couldn't help but scrunch his nose up at the smell of them, but apart from that, he was not as horrified as some of the Southerners that were exaggerating their reactions, including Pycelle, who looked slightly green. But again, he questioned why? Why had these murderers and rapists gone out of their way to kill and gut several fish for the farmers to take with them to show to Lord Stark?

"Trout. The sigil of House Tully." Lord Baelish remarked, before leaning in towards Ned, his voice a whisper. "Isn't that your wife's House, my Lord Hand?"

Edward understood now. Whoever had done this had the intention of causing damage and threats to House Tully. And the only people at this time who would want to enact such damage and make sinister threats to the ruling House of the Riverlands could surely be the family whose member had been captured by a member of House Tully….

Edward definitely had goosebumps now. If his suspicions were correct…. Gods only know what would happen.

"These men, were they flying a sigil? A banner?" Lord Stark asked the farmer, who looked slightly confused, trying to remember if there had been any.

"None, Your- _Hand,_ " the farmer corrected himself, "but the one who was leading them…. Taller by a foot than any man I've ever met. I- I saw him cut the blacksmith in two, saw him cut the head off a horse with a _single swing_ of his sword!"

The mention of such acts instantly brought a memory to Edward. The other day, Sansa had told him about the Tourney of the Hand, and how a certain giant man had, in rage, decapitated his own horse with his greatsword. Another chill went through his spine. Edward gulped in fear at the image, and at the possible identity of the man.

"That sounds like someone we know." Lord Baelish echoed Edward's thoughts to Lord Stark, who was wearing his impassive stone-like 'Lord's face', as Robb liked to coin it. " _The Mountain._ "

Ned spoke up. "You're describing Ser Gregor Clegane."

"Why should Ser Gregor turn brigand? The man is an anointed knight." Pycelle asked out of curiosity, but Edward, who was now lightly clutching and fidgeting with his sword's hilt and pommel, a habit he picked up in order to ground himself whenever he felt scared or overwhelmed, could have sworn that it sounded as if the Grand Maester was almost _defending_ the Mountain.

"I've heard him called Tywin Lannister's mad dog. I'm sure you have as well." Lord Baelish responded to Pycelle, before leaning in again to Lord Stark. "Can you think of _any_ reason the Lannisters might possibly have for being angry with your wife?"

Littlefinger didn't even need an answer, for everyone knew it in their heads. It was almost as if he was taunting Lord Stark with the way he said it, knowing full well that Ned knew the answer to his question.

 _Your wife stole the Imp, now Tywin is having his revenge._

It all made sense now. Edward knew that Lady Catelyn had captured Tyrion Lannister, and in response to the slight against his family, the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands had taken to wreaking havoc in the Riverlands as a form of retaliation.

The grip on his sword hilt got a little bit tighter.

"If the Lannisters were to order attacks on villages under the King's protection, it would be-"

"Almost as brazen as attacking the Hand of the King in the streets of the capital." Baelish finished for Pycelle, confirming Edward's suspicions, and indeed the court's, that it had to be the Lannisters behind these attacks. Pycelle shifted awkwardly in his seat at the notion, clearly uncomfortable.

There was a moment of silence from the court, all waiting for Lord Stark's verdict. Edward turned his head to look at his Lord, who was wearing a stoic face that meant that he was thinking, calculating. But the young Captain knew that Ned was a man of honour; he wouldn't need to make a choice on what to do, the decision was already made, and it would be that of justice.

"I cannot give you back your homes, or restore your dead to life, but perhaps I can give you justice, in the name of our King, Robert."

Edward gave a small smile to himself at knowing what Lord Stark would do, but it left his face quickly, knowing that this was still a very serious matter.

"Lord Beric Dondarrion." Ned called out for the Stormlord to come forward, which he did, a ginger bearded, popular young man with a warm smile always on the edge of his lips, and with vigor and honour in his eyes, the purple streak of lightning that was his House sigil emblazoned across his tunic. Edward had learnt of the Lightning Lords of Blackhaven, how they controlled one of the two passes into the Red Mountains of Dorne, a vital and very prestigious task for the Stormlords, as this allowed them to hold the Stormlands against any Dornish invaders.

"You shall have the command." Lord Stark spoke, "take 100 men, and ride to Ser Gregor's keep."

"As you command, my Lord Hand." Lord Beric bowed his head, a serious expression of acknowledgement on his face. Ned turned his head to Edward, who, sensing his gaze, turned to face his Lord.

"Captain Edward, when court is adjourned, go with Lord Beric, help him assemble the men. Ask any of our guardsmen if they wish to join him. When you're done, report back to the Tower of the Hand."

Edward took on an equally serious expression, one of determination. "Aye, my Lord. I'll do as you ask."

Nodding slightly in approval, Ned rose to his feet gingerly, clutching his cane that supported him, before addressing Lord Beric.

"In the name of Robert, of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, I charge you, Lord Beric Dondarrion, to bring the King's Justice to the false knight Gregor Clegane, and all those who shared in his crimes. I denounce him, and attaint him. I strip him of all ranks, and titles, of all lands and holdings, and sentence him to death."

This announcement from the Hand sent rushed whispers scattering through the court. Grand Maester Pycelle rose from his chair in disagreement, not happy with Lord Stark's order.

"M-My Lord, this, this is a _drastic_ action! Perhaps it would be better to wait for King Robert's return-"

"Grand Maester Pycelle," Ned continued, as if he had not heard the old man's pleas for patience, his stern Northern voice sounding as authoritative as ever, "send a raven to Casterly Rock. Inform Tywin Lannister that he has been summoned to the capital to answer for the crimes of his bannermen. He will arrive within the fortnight, or be branded an enemy of the Crown, and a _traitor to the realm_."

Edward didn't think that his grip on his sword hilt could get any tighter than that moment.

* * *

"I've met your cousin, you know. During the Greyjoy Rebellion."

"Really? Jory, he…. he never told me that. All he talked about was Thoros of Myr with his flaming sword, first one into the breach at Pyke."

Beric Dondarrion gave a warm chuckle. "Yes, well, Thoros and I are good friends. I bet he doesn't even remember that it was myself who told him to use that flaming sword of his, with how drunk he was. I told him it would inspire the troops. I guess it did in the end."

"Judging by Jory's reaction, I think so too." Edward gave a chuckle and smile of his own.

The two were riding with 10 Stark guardsmen from Lord Eddard's household, who had volunteered to join Lord Beric in his quest to capture and execute Ser Gregor Clegane for his crimes. One of these men was Dorin, who had chosen to join despite the small objection from Edward, who saw Dorin as the only true mentor in the guardsmen he had left since his father was with Lady Catelyn and Jory was gone. Dorin had simply patted the young Captain on the shoulder, given a reassuring smile, and told Edward to follow the advice of Lord Stark, and be himself. Reluctantly, Edward had permitted him to go, with his support.

The small group of men were riding down the streets of King's Landing, towards one of the gates leading out of the city, where Lord Beric intended to gather more men from the Lords of the Crownlands, mainly from Rosby, and the Blackwater Rush. They all came to a stop at the gate leading north, and dismounted to say their goodbyes to Edward.

The guardsmen all gave a firm handshake, words of condolence for Jory, vows of avenging him, and encouragement for his command. Edward thanked them all, knowing their words to be sincere. It was Dorin who came last out of the guardsmen, and like before, he gently grasped Edward's shoulder in assurance.

"I know you don't want me to leave, lad. But as Vice-Captain, I feel it's my duty to help lead the company with Beric, and stop the Lannisters from violating Lady Stark's homeland."

Edward gave a curt nod. "I understand, Vice-Captain. I wish you good fortune in the fights to come."

Dorin gave a smile, and a stand at attention. "I wish you the same fortune for your command, Captain. May the Old Gods guide you."

Dorin left to attend the men and his horse, whilst Beric was the last man to say farewell. Exchanging a handshake, Beric gave one of his customary warm smiles.

"I'm going to Rosby to gather more men, then we'll head north to find the Mountain." Beric stated.

"I expect it'll be difficult, my Lord." Edward responded.

"Aye, most likely. But my good friend Thoros should come along, that'll lift the spirits." A small laugh was shared between the two, before Beric turned slightly more serious. "You have my sympathies, for Jory. He seemed like a good man."

"He was." Edward confirmed, a little emotional.

"Don't worry, Captain. Your cousin's memory will be avenged. Good luck on your command, you will serve Lord Stark well." Beric reached out for another handshake, which Edward gladly took.

"As will you, my Lord. May the Gods grant you good fortune in your mission."

With that, the two mounted their horses, Beric and his small group heading to Rosby, Edward heading back to the Red Keep. The day certainly had been eventful, and it was still mid-afternoon. That left one more job to do, one more apology to make, and it involved a Stark girl who he cared for deeply.

* * *

Edward strode up the stairs of the Tower of the Hand, intent on finding Sansa and apologising to her for his outburst the night before. Even thinking back to last night brought a sense of shame to Edward, who should have not been so rash and emotional. He made his way to the dining area, knowing that she'd probably be there with her Septa. As he found the door to the dining room, he looked through and found Sansa with Septa Mordane.

Only, they weren't alone.

The sun poured through from Blackwater Bay into the room, filling it with golden colours. One would simply be in awe at the sight. Edward found himself staring in awe, only, not at the room, but at the people inside it.

Septa Mordane stood on the balcony, looking away in slight awkwardness at the kiss Sansa and Prince Joffrey were sharing. Edward couldn't help but stare, and feel his blood boil at the sight.

He couldn't believe that he was seeing this. For years he had hoped to be Sansa's first kiss, but the title went to the insufferable Prince, which made him so angry. He was a second away from marching over and pulling Joffrey off Sansa, but the two seperated, with Edward only able to see Sansa's face.

She was smiling, a dreamy look in her eyes, clearly happy with what had just happened. But it faded as soon as she looked over Joffrey's shoulder to see Edward, clean and shaved and handsome, looking at her with a mixture of shock, disgust, and anger.

Joffrey noticed, and turned to face the Captain, a smug smile on his weasel-like face, his eyes taunting him, as if he had just taken his favourite toy. The Prince sauntered over to Edward, who stood there, not even speaking, his face turned blank but his eyes shooting fury at what he witnessed.

"Well, well, if it isn't the new guard _Captain_." Joffrey mocked, now stood a foot and a half away from Edward, his courage clearly high after gaining the affection of his betrothed. "So sorry to hear about your cousin. I suppose that my uncle and his men were no match for Northern savages."

Edward knew he was trying to goad him, especially in front of Sansa. Every fibre of his hands were itching to punch the Prince's face, and bloody him beyond recognition, but he wasn't a soldier for nothing. Discipline and honour ruled his actions, not rash emotion. He stood there, slightly towering over Joffrey, simply staring him down, not speaking.

It seemed Joffrey didn't need a reaction. He smirked that shit-eating grin that Edward had grown to hate.

"It seems that you've caught Lady Sansa in a good mood. I do enjoy her company…" Joffrey whispered to Edward, putting one last dig in at him, before leaving the room.

Sansa saw Edward visibly relax, but his face still was impassive, and his eyes were still livid. Those same eyes caught Sansa's gaze, and smouldered slightly, turning from burning golden brown to heated brown and green. Still angry, but with a mixture of sadness. _No doubt_ , Sansa thought, _because of what he saw_.

"Septa Mordane," Edward finally spoke up, his voice neutral, "I would like a moment with Lady Sansa alone, if I may ask."

Septa Mordane, slightly eager to get out of the tension covering the room at that moment, nodded and left Sansa and Edward to talk privately.

Edward looked at Sansa, taking in her appearance. Having adopted the Southern fashions and styles, she wore a light blue dress, with billowing loose sleeves, that matched the colour of her eyes, whilst her hair was intricately done up, instead of the Northern style that normally framed her beautiful face. But what really stood out was the lion necklace that Sansa was wearing on her neck and resting on her collarbone. Whilst thinking of what to say in apology, Edward had seriously considered offering Sansa his own pendant as a way to say sorry. But clearly it didn't matter, as that stupid Prince had somehow managed to gain her affection.

 _First Jory, now this?_

Sansa looked into Edward's eyes again, seeing hurt flash across them. She knew why he was upset. She had let Joffrey kiss her, give her a lion necklace like the one the Queen wore. She had effectively given Joffrey her affections, and she could see how much it hurt Edward. Most likely, he had arrived to give an apology, instead, she had basically thrown it back in his face.

 _I shouldn't have kissed Joffrey,_ her immediate thought was. No matter how upset she got with Edward, she hated to cause more pain for him, especially after Jory's death.

 _Good_ , another thought in the back of her mind sprouted. _He deserves it, after how he treated you_.

Sansa was almost shocked at the thought, but she knew that it was how she felt earlier. She was still hurt and angry herself after Edward had shouted at her and blamed her for Jory's death. Just like the argument at Winterfell before they left, Sansa didn't want to give Edward the satisfaction of her forgiveness. So, when Prince Joffrey had come, apologising for _his_ actions, Sansa had forgiven _him_ , returning to the young girl who dreamed about chivalry and a dashing Prince to take her away.

Sansa was brought out of her thoughts by Edward, who still wore an expression of hurt and anger.

"I thought you didn't like him."

Sansa knew he was right, but her Northern stubbornness didn't want to let her fall back to forgiving him again.

"Maybe I do." Sansa tried to appear unwavering, hoping it would work. But in her mind, she was starting to question herself.

 _Do I truly like the Prince?_

Had she forgiven Joffrey out of want for his attention? Probably not, in truth. She still remembered how horrible he could be, and she didn't forget about Lady, how he had started events that led to her death.

 _Then why did you accept him?_

Out of spite against Edward? Most likely.

 _But why?_ Another thought passed through her mind. _Why did you do that?_ _Why did you spite him?_

Sansa knew why, deep down. It was something she wasn't sure she wanted to admit to herself.

 _Because I… I… because he upsets me._

 _Why were you so upset? Why does he affect your feelings so much?_

Again, Sansa knew the answer, but she didn't want to acknowledge it, out of fear, stubbornness, embarrassment, she didn't know.

Despite the turmoil going through her mind at her feelings about Edward, the young Captain decided to cut the bullshit, his tone stern and accusing.

"No you don't. Why did you kiss him?"

Sansa stood there for a moment, unable to come up with a reasonable excuse.

"I… I don't know." the Stark girl answered hesitantly, her resolve weakening.

"Yes you do." Edward took a couple of steps forward, his eyes shining from the late afternoon sun. Sansa would have thought they were gorgeous if it wasn't for the fact he was rounding on her like a predator on a wounded prey.

 _But you are a wolf,_ Sansa reminded herself. _Wolves do not cower._

"I kissed him because he asked for forgiveness for his actions, and as my betrothed, we are to be married one day. I thought it best to forgive him and improve our relationship." Sansa answered, lying through her teeth, but standing firm.

Edward scoffed. "So all the times you came to me, worrying about whether he is worth your affections, or how he's not like the princes in the songs, you were doing it out of what? Attention? Boredom?"

Sansa again faltered, stuck for an answer. Edward capitalised.

"Am I really worth that much to you? Am I simply someone to run off to who is just there to provide support for your troubles?

"No!" Sansa instantly replied. "No…. you're not- you've never been that type of person."

"Then tell the truth, Sansa." Edward was a foot away from her, his eyes gouging into hers, forcing her to keep eye contact. It wasn't if Sansa could look away now if she tried. The tension was now thick, and heavy. "Did you forgive the Prince because of what happened last night? In spite of me?"

Sansa could only nod at Edward's pinpoint accuracy, her words failing her. Her stubborn resolve to prevent Edward from getting to her had failed. She cast her gaze down, as she confirmed Edward's question, but after a few seconds, she dared to meet Edward's gaze again. But instead of what she thought would be anger, she saw only sorrow; dejected and empty. His face was crestfallen and guilt-ridden.

Edward's smooth voice was now only a whisper. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise what I did would affect you so badly. Please, forgive me, my Lady."

The sincerity in Edward's voice and words were enough to break Sansa's heart. Looking into her best friend's eyes, she knew he cared for her.

 _Perhaps more than Joffrey…._

She knew deep down that her affections were changing, that Edward was starting to be the one that she was dreaming about, rather than the Prince. She felt Edward's hand brush against her's, a silent request to hold it. She was so tempted to let him, judging by the heavy breathing and rapid heartbeat, but just as she was about to give in, another thought made its way into her head.

 _It is not becoming of a Lady to be infatuated with someone other than their betrothed._

Septa Mordane's stern voice alerted Sansa to the situation. Here she was, slowly allowing herself to give in to her feelings for the young man standing in front of her, when just earlier she had allowed her betrothed to kiss her and therefore she had chosen Joffrey.

 _What would Mother say?_

That final thought forced Sansa to move out of the personal space of Edward, abruptly making for the door, her face flushed and head swimming with embarrassment and fear.

"Sansa!" Edward exclaimed in surprise at the sudden changes in mood. He had almost managed to get to the source of the problems he and Sansa had, but suddenly she had just burst out of his way, hurriedly walking away from him.

Sansa knew she had to explain herself. She didn't want to tell Edward how she felt about him, as that would lead down a path that would cause her, her family, and even the Prince dishonour. But also, in truth, she was scared. She hadn't expected to be feeling…. _like this_ for the young Cassel, when she already was betrothed to the heir to the Iron Throne. Again, she berated herself.

 _You shouldn't be feeling like this. He is not worthy._

Choosing Joffrey over Edward, she spoke, putting on her most courteous and neutral expression.

"I'm sorry, Captain, but you must excuse me. I forgive you for your actions last night, but I'm afraid that I am bound to my future husband. He is my betrothed. Enjoy your evening."

Edward didn't even get the chance to reply, as Sansa quickly left, leaving the young Cassel to wonder why she was now choosing the Prince, and what he done to deserve this rejection.

* * *

 _This is what you wanted! A dashing Prince, your King and husband to be! Someone brave, and gentle, and strong…._

Shaking the mental image of Edward out of her mind, Sansa almost found it funny. Even when she was trying to think about her future with her Prince, all she could think about was him. It did make her wonder, though, had she always felt like this for him?

 _Did it really take an engagement to the most eligible person in all Seven Kingdoms to make you realise how you truly felt?_

 _I am to be Joffrey's. Our betrothal has made me realise I am his._ Sansa tried to convince herself.

 _Stop lying to yourself, Joffrey is not who you truly lov-_

Before she could finish that thought, hoping Arya sitting on her right didn't notice her blush, the sound of her father's cane coming in to her room alerted her to the present. Ned stood there, an apologetic look on his face, which helped to mask the pain he still felt from his injured leg. It was later that evening, when the sun had set and the candles were lit. It had been a few hours since her talk with Edward, and yet Sansa found herself even more conflicted than before.

"I'm sending you back to Winterfell." Ned said.

"What?" Sansa and Arya both shouted at once, demanding an explanation. Arya sounded more outraged, but Sansa was more in disbelief, although there was a hint of something else…. Relief? Scepticism?

"Listen-" Ned began, but was cut off by Arya.

"Are you dying because of your leg?" the young Stark girl asked, fearful. "Is that why you're sending us home?"

"What? No-" Ned answered, incredulous at the imagination of his youngest daughter.

"Please father, don't send us home. You can't, I've got my lessons with Syrio. I'm finally getting good!" Arya said, trying to make her father change his mind.

"This isn't a punishment." Ned finally managed to get a word in. "I want you both back in Winterfell for your own safety."

"Can we take Syrio back with us?" Arya asked, hopeful.

"Aye, if he accepts."

"But…." Sansa eventually spoke, her face showing an expression of slight confusion, her quiet words portraying such. "What about the Prince? Aren't I supposed to marry him?"

Ned took a moment before speaking, his voice warm and caring, a voice he only ever used for his daughters. "Sansa, when you're a little older, I'll make you a match with someone who is worthy of you. Someone who's brave, and gentle, and strong."

 _Brave and gentle, and strong._ Once more, his face came up in Sansa's mind, and she couldn't take it anymore, her words rushing out of her mouth subconsciously, before she could process them. Her futile attempt to convince herself that Edward was not the one was now there for her father and sister to hear, her mouth betraying her thoughts.

"I don't _want_ someone brave, and gentle, and strong! I don't _want_ Edward, I don't want _him_ , I want Joffrey! I-I'm supposed to be his Queen, and give him beautiful lions with beautiful golden hair!"

The room was silent for a while after Sansa's sudden outburst, with Ned and Arya looking at each other as if to confirm that they heard the same thing.

"Who said anything about Edward?" Arya asked, immediately addressing the point that confused her and Ned.

It was at this point that Sansa realised what she had said. Her eyes widened in shock as she look at both her father and Arya, her mouth opening and closing as she failed to find words, her face crimson red.

"I-I-I…"

"Sansa…" Ned said, bringing her frightened gaze his way, trying his best to be quiet and caring, as he started to guess why his guard Captain was mentioned by Sansa. "... is there something you're not telling us?"

Ned didn't get an answer, except for the storming out of the room from his eldest daughter, who was too embarrassed to withstand being questioned by both Ned or Arya.

Arya took this opportunity to laugh knowingly. "I think Sansa has a crush on Edward." She said, grinning at the prospect of using this priceless information to tease her sister with. Even Ned couldn't stop a small smile forming, a mental note to speak to Edward and Sansa planted in the back of his mind.

"Go on, get your Septa and help your sister pack her things. Go easy on her." Ned half-warned Arya, who nodded as she made to leave the room, but stopped on the threshold, suddenly curious.

"Why did Sansa say that Joffrey's children would be lions? He's a stag, isn't he? A Baratheon. The lion isn't his sigil."

Ned normally wouldn't have paid much mind to Arya's curiosity, but the question screamed at him of something behind it. Something hidden in plain sight. He looked at Arya, who still waited for an answer.

"Go to your sister, Arya, and pack your things." Ned waved off his daughter, who went to her room to pack, a little annoyed at not getting an answer.

Ned, however, needed to find the answer behind the question, and he think he knew where to find it.

It now was starting to make sense, horrifying sense. Ned went to his cluttered desk, and found the book he had received from Pycelle a few weeks ago. He opened it, piecing together the puzzle, looking for the House he needed to find. Targaryen, Umber, Martell…. until halfway through the book, he found his friend's family pages. House Baratheon.

He went through some of the ancestors, labelling them as the same traits; blue eyes, black hair. Orys Baratheon, Axel Baratheon, Lyonel Baratheon, Ormund Baratheon, Steffon Baratheon, Robert Baratheon…. all black of hair. Until he reached the newest entry.

"Joffrey Baratheon…. golden haired."

Ned couldn't believe it. He sat back in his chair, staring at the distance, not focusing, too engrossed in his thoughts, and the shocking discovery he had just made. The discovery that Jon Arryn possibly died for.

Ned steeled himself, as he knew that this truth that he had now found would have to be brought to Robert. His duty and honour compelled him to. But he also knew that this would only bring about more turmoil, for him, his family, his household, for the realm.

* * *

 **There you have it, people. Ned finally** _ **knows**_ **.**

 **There is also the small discovery of Joffrey and his siblings being incest bastards. Things are hotting up for sure.**

 **I hope you guys enjoy this, I really appreciate your reviews and feedback, be sure to leave some if you can, it really helps.**

 **I hope the Sansa and Edward scene isn't too confusing, I probably wrote it quite poorly, do let me know what you think of it, and this chapter.**

 **Basically, Edward is mad and upset at Sansa kissing Joffrey because 1. He loves her 2. She did it to get back at him for getting angry at her.**

 **Sansa, meanwhile, is now starting to address the feelings that are developing for Edward, despite the fact that she is trying to force herself to stick with Joffrey. She doesn't like Joffrey, not anymore, but the fears that she may dishonour herself and her family by choosing Edward over the Prince caused her to push Edward away. She's also afraid of her feelings, because she always thought that she would fall in love with her betrothed, not a lowly Captain who has no land to his name. She is going to learn a** _ **lot**_ **of lessons about the real world, as most of you will know.**

 **Please follow, favourite, and leave a review, it would make my day. You guys are honestly the best, I'm so grateful for you all reading my humble story.**

 _ **Next chapter hint:**_ **The King is dead, long live the King. Joffrey, Stannis, Renly; Ned must choose a side, his honour on the line. War is stirring. Loyalties will be tested.**

 **Love you all.**

bobberoo98


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